


Jack Frost/Pitch Black : Frostbitten

by WinterBerry



Category: Guardians of Childhood - William Joyce, Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Alternate Reality, By Author of 'Rise of the Guardians a Romantic Sequel' - Freeform, Fantasy, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, Mystery, Mythical Beings & Creatures, slowbuild, slowburn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-08
Updated: 2015-06-25
Packaged: 2018-02-12 07:58:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 87,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2101746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinterBerry/pseuds/WinterBerry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack Frost spends his days ordinarily enough as the owner of 'Frostbook', an eclectic book store. Burying himself in novel after novel to distract from boredom, loneliness and the past he just wants to forget. Only at night does he acknowledge the ice running through his veins. A power he he was born possessing without a clue as to how or why. One fateful day a stranger by the name of Pitch Black moves into the shop next door, opening a very unusual private Investigation office. He seems to know more about Jack than Jack does himself. Slowly, Pitch reveals a dangerous yet breathtaking world of ancient wonders and he won't allow Jack to stay behind, offering more than just companionship. Faced with a choice between the safe life he's become used to living and the chance to find out who he really is in the midst of deadly mystery, which will Jack choose?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Frostbook

Jack uncrossed and recrossed his legs uncomfortably, restlessly picking the peeling green paint from the old stool on which he sat. Beams of weak sunlight shone through the windows of ‘Frostbook’, a shop filled to the brim with eclectic novels.

Shifting away from the glare, he refocused on the volume in hand, entering a world of paper and ink.

Occasionally he peered at the few customers mulling between shelves. A small mousy woman was making a beeline for the checkout. Inwardly he dreaded the placement of her books upon the counter, in no mood to exchange pleasantries.

With regret he set the novel aside, marking it with a scrap of discarded paper. Pasting on the usual smile, he completed the transaction with a minimal exchange of words.

By seven o’clock the sky was darkening, a few stars peeped from behind low hanging clouds. It was time to close, another monotonous day at an end.

He turned a few books right side up, uncaring about their particular arrangement. Jack disliked organization.

With Lights out and door locked he trudged up stairs to the small one bedroom apartment above. Kicking off worn converse and socks, he wriggled his toes and sighed. Shoes made him feel claustrophobic. Messy stacks of books littered the ash-brown hardwood floors. A delicate white cat wove between and pushed her head into Jack’s waiting palm “Hey Niv” she slowly blinked crystalline blue eyes as if to say

“Welcome home”.

Several mismatched chairs and one fraying couch surrounded an old black coffee table under which rested a grey and blue patterned rug. The walls, a light shade of sky, were devoid of ornamentation giving the space a somewhat airy feel despite the cluttered floor.

Niv followed him into the kitchen, looking up expectantly.

“Dinner time?”

He poured kibble into a ceramic bowl decorated with blue flowers. She ate slowly, paws folded neatly beneath her.

“I’m going out Nivy…I’ll probably be late”.

She glanced at him as if to say “What the hell, didn’t you just come home?”

“I know girl, but I’m starting to go a little stir crazy here”.

Munching on a slightly burnt piece of toast, Jack dug through a pile of clothes.

“It’s here somewhere…Ah!”

The worn fabric reminded him of much-folded paper, soft and thin. He slipped the dark blue hoodie on. Opening a window, he placed one foot on the lintel.

Bang, bang!

A double knock echoed up from the shop, it startled Jack off the sill. He flailed for a moment, arms spinning.

“Who the hell, at this hour!?”

Quietly, he picked up the only weapon in sight, an umbrella.

Jack remained in the shadows for a long moment, just beyond the stair case. Brandishing the umbrella like a sword, he squinted through the glass. A dark silhouette stood beyond.

Gripping the umbrella tightly in one hand, Jack unlocked the door and cracked it. A tall, thin man with straight black hair was revealed, his face thin was angular with an aquiline nose. Strange auric eyes appraised Jack.

Uncomfortable, Jack said; “The shop is closed right now”.

Thin lips quirked into slight smile “I am aware, sorry to disturb. I’ll be taking up residence next door, but it seems I’ve arrived early. The key holder can’t come by until tomorrow…I’m in somewhat of a bind until then”. The stranger’s voice was like velvet, soft and low. It sent an invisible shiver up Jack’s spine.

The space next door was empty. Jack ran a hand through his hair, an impatient habit. The night sky beckoned, moon and stars glowing invitingly.

He glanced out at the parking lot and spotted a small moving truck. With a sigh, he opened the door the rest of the way and gestured the man in.

“My name is Kozmotis Pitchiner, but you can call me Pitch” his words carried an almost undetectable lilt.

“Jack Frost” Jack replied.

Pitch glanced down at the umbrella “What were you planning to do with that? He said superciliously.

Jack frowned and leaned the offending object against the wall “I don’t know; self-defense”.

Pitch smirked. “That’s a nice thought”.

“Its past closing, dark and I don’t know you, what did you expect?” Jack grumpily crammed a hand into his pocket. He’d been in an increasingly bad mood lately. In all likely hood, it stemmed from spending too many hours inside. Not alone, but lonely. Languishing in a self-prescribed isolation wherein the presence of others had become painful.

Upstairs, Pitch looked around, studied the space. “You live alone.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yep” Jack watched Pitch step gracefully between book piles, his long black Jacket almost brushing the floor.

Pitch turned to find Jack looking. Something seemed to glint in those unfathomable golden eyes. “So many books…a bit excessive, considering the entire shop full downstairs”. Pitch looked away, corner of his mouth turning up.

Jack blinked and leaned his shoulder against the wall “So what? It’s not as if there’s a limit”.

Long fingers ran down the spine of a faded red tome. “Hmmm…Did you inherit the book shop? You can’t be past twenty”.

“I’m twenty two and I bought it”. Jack felt a twinge of annoyance; he was often mistaken for a teenager, yet to have lost his boyish looks.

Pitch raised one brow, as if aware that he’s hit a nerve “Still young to own a business”.

“I love books and this way I make a profit” Jack said, digging through the linen closet for a spare blanket and pillow.

“Sounds like you bought this place to sit and read all day without feeling guilty about it”. Smoothing his coat, Pitch perched on the arm of an overstuffed chair.

Jack threw the spare bedding at him, intending to nail the other man in the face. Pitch, to his disappointment, caught it neatly.

“I suppose that’s one way of putting it. Now, I’m going to bed, the couch is yours for the night”. Without further ado he went into his bedroom and shut the door a little harder than necessary.

Jack paced his room, frustrated…fascinated. His first house guest and new neighbor seemed to take pleasure in being a dick albeit an mysterious one.

He opened the window, hating the closed in feeling the small room sometimes gave him.

Escape plans cancelled, Jack flopping onto his bed, resigning himself to a restless night. A cool breeze called him teasingly as he lay sleepless till the wee morning hours.

Jack was woken by the bubbling sound of percolating coffee. He rolled out of bed and glanced in the mirror to discover some serious bed head. Lazily, he ran a hand through his locks, but they remained in an entangled state. Giving up, he sleepily shuffled out into the tiny kitchen. Pitch sat at the bar with a steaming mug of coffee, reading one of Jack’s books. His hair annoyingly neat, clothes unwrinkled.

“I see you helped yourself”.

Pitch glanced up “I made enough for two”.

Jack was too sleepy to protest and fixed a cup with lots of cream and sugar. Sitting at the bar, he stared into space. The potent liquid scalded his throat all the way down. It seemed strange to have someone else besides himself and Niv in the apartment. Pitch probably didn’t know it, but he was Jack’s first visitor.

“Not a morning person?” Pitch asked without looking up. Pages of the book he held rustled like dry leaves.

Jack took a large gulp of the sugary brew. Coffee always burned like a bitch, but he loved the impending caffeine rush. “I’m just tired, I didn’t sleep well”.

“You look it”.

“Are you always rude to people you’ve just met?” Jack said with a yawn.

“Would you rather I tell you how pretty you look?” Pitch didn't crack a grin, but his eyes were dancing.

“Shut up, or I may just pour this coffee on your head” Jack waved his mug threateningly, almost sloshing the liquid.

Resting a hand under his chin, Pitch resumed staring at the type underneath his fingers. “Defensive are we? I’m sure there’s a book to help with that here somewhere”

“That’s it!” Before Jack could do more than lift the cup, Pitch had made it halfway to the door.

He laughed darkly.

“Come visit later…if you’re brave”. Spinning on his heel, he was out the door, long black jacket disappearing in a swish of cloth.

Stunned for a moment, Jack sat unmoving. He didn’t have a clue what the man was using the neighboring space for. Niv appeared from wherever she’s been hiding. A bit of fuzz clung to her white coat as if she’d slid from under the couch.

“What’d you think of him?” Jack asked her.

She simply stretched and began to use his pants as a scratching post. Jack twitched his limb away. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll get your breakfast”.

At eleven he opened shop. The day proceeded as usual; reading, fighting off boredom. Some part of his brain kept pulling Pitch to the surface, a nagging curiosity. Occasionally he’d hear a bang or a thump. Furniture being moved into place he assumed. Time seemed to move at a crawl.

Having been prevented from going out the night before, Jack found it hard to sit for any length of time, he aimlessly reorganized books and tended to customers with a shortness that gained him several dirty looks. Finally, it was time to close again.

Jack often found his fear of discovery at odds with his sense of curiosity. He stood behind Frostbook’s door, torn. "Oh, fuck it".

With a sharp click he locked up. The sky was sending down a slow drizzle, washing everything in rich, deep color.

The moving truck was gone. A fresh sign hung over the door of the neighboring business. It displayed two words in neat curling font; private detective and underneath the words was an odd symbol. Jack entered. Compared to his own space it was small, only an office. Against one exposed brick wall was a large leather couch. Located next to the single long window was a desk, behind the desk sat Pitch.

“That didn’t take long”.

“I just think it’s best to know a little about my neighbor, I mean what if you were a serial killer or something?”

Pitch raised one brow “Quite the opposite, as you can see”.

“Is that even a real job anymore?  Detective seems more like a fictional term”.

Pitch snorted “What a ridiculous thing to think. You’ve read far too many mystery novels”.

Jack glared “I do own a book shop”.

“That you do” Pitch said in a way that implied Jack had said something stupid.

Seconds after that pronouncement, a short portly man stumbled in through the door. He was breathing heavily and a smear of blood decorated one cheek.

“Are you Mr. Pitchiner?” the stranger asked.

Pitch waved a hand nonchalantly, as if it were no big deal to have a hysterical man in his office.

“THANK GOD, I need your help! My brother in the hospital. He’s going to come after me next…God, oh god, I can’t go to the police. He’ll go after my family and friends! He’ll kill them all! Dead all dead…I-”. The man was starting to hyperventilated, his expansive girth heaving, eyes wild.

“Breath, slow down, take a seat and start from the beginning” Pitch said, indicating the couch with a long fingered gesture, unfazed. Jack turned to leave. “Jack. Stay. I might need help” Jack, who rarely listened to anyone, leaned against the wall silently and waited.

The man didn’t seem to notice the exchange of words, but sat, shivering slightly.

“Go ahead” Pitch said, voice soft and persuasive.

“I’m a lawyer…I was representing a man…convicted of a murder. In short, all evidence pointed toward him, we lost. He-he was sentenced to life without bail, but last night he broke out…There isn’t a trace of how he did it. I got a phone call early this morning. He said…he said he was going to kill the person closest to me in revenge…Revenge for losing the case.

He told me if I…If I called the police he would kill more of my family. I drove to my brother’s home on the other side of town; he’s my only kin in the area…I found him on the floor…Wi-with a hole in his chest. I called an ambulance. The police came with them; I told them I didn’t know who had done it, they’re investigating it as a break in…Will you…Could you find the man?”

“Yes. I’ll take your case…Your brother is in a coma isn’t he?”

“…Yes, how did you know?”

“You didn’t speak of a testimonial or of his death. Such an injury could easily place one into such a state, especially with resulting blood loss” Pitch said, indicating the red stripe on the man’s wan cheek.

A short fingered hand shot up to scrub vigorously at the spot. “Right…I see”.

Pitch nodded, but Jack noticed his eyes narrow slightly. “I’ll have this wrapped up shortly…I will need to visit both the prison cell and your brother”.

“I can pay you as much as necessary, provide you with anything you might need” he began to reach for his wallet.

“Let’s worry about that after we’ve caught the murderer. One last thing, your name?”

“Sorry, should have introduced myself. It’s Sydney Stone”.

“Well Mr. Stone, write down your cell phone number and the name of the convict in addition to the prison and hospital names. Go home and get some rest. I’ll call you if we find anything”.

“I can’t do help...You won’t tell the police?”

“No, I’ve got it handled. Put your mind at ease, I don’t think it’s in anyone’s interests to inform the police at this time” Pitch ushered him out the door.

“That was all very interesting, but why do you need me? I don’t know much about such things” Jack said.

“It helps to have an abstract eye. Sometimes I become so engrossed in the miniscule details, I lose sight of the obvious or unusual. In this particular case…It may be best to have a witness to events besides myself”.

“I’m a daydreamer, not a case solver and…I tend to mess things up…bad”.

“We have an attempted murder on our hands, I doubt you could do more damage. Something tells me you don’t enjoy being cooped up in that store day after day as much as you act like you do”.

Jack regarded the other man. That Pitch had guessed such a thing so easily disturbed him. “I guess, just this once. Only because I’m bored”. Before he could change his mind, Pitch was striding outside, beckoning over his shoulder as if certain Jack would follow.

With a quick motion, Pitch pulled the tarp off a shiny black motorcycle. It had two seats and a spare helmet.

“We’re riding THAT?” Jack didn’t dislike motorcycles, but the closeness necessary for them to travel together caused a panicky sensation in his gut. What if Pitch noticed how icy his skin was?

He feared discovery, feared actual contact with another person. Then again, making a fuss about the situation would seem odd in itself.

Pitch gave him an strange sideways look, handing over the extra helmet. “We are”. With a graceful motion, Pitch swung into the front seat.

“This is a horrible vehicle for here, there’s too much rain and snow”.

“I’m quite attached to this bike, she’s gotten me out of many a scrape, my nightmare”.

“You seriously named your motorcycle nightmare?” He fastened the spare helmet under his chin.

Pitch revved the engine “A nightmare to my enemies”.

“Do you have many?

“Enough. Now, get on”.

Hesitantly, Jack sat behind Pitch, pulling his coat tightly around himself. He prayed it would hide his abnormal temperature.

His hands fluttered for a moment. From within Pitch’s helmet came an exasperated sigh. “You know where to put them”.

Jack wrapped his arms around the other man’s waist and squeezed slightly harder than necessary. He was rewarded by a muted cough. Pitch gunned the throttle, forcing Jack to hang on in earnest. They sped through the streets, sending arcs of muddy water into the air.

At one point Pitch squeezed between several cars, laughing wickedly. Jack had to resist punching the other man, needing both hands to stay on. When they reached their destination, he jumped off the bike and away from Pitch hurriedly.

“You’re a maniac, has anyone ever told you?”

“Several times” Pitch said before striding off with purpose.

Jack felt annoyed that Pitch had taken off without a backward glance for the second time.

He sprinted to catch up.

The prison was the first stop. Pitch flashed some sort of certification at the guard and they were escorted to the cell. Silently, Pitch paced its length, felt the walls, and looked under the bed. Jack watched him explore the small space for a full five minutes. Then he stopped.

Dusting the invisible dirt from the front of his Jacket, Pitch said; “Jack, do you see anything out of the ordinary?”

He glanced around, unsure what he was supposed to notice. “No”.

“Exactly” for whatever reason, this seemed to please Pitch.

Jack shook his head “How’d he escape then?”

“I don’t think he did. I think someone let him out” a calculating gleam had entered Pitch’s eye.

Jack tilted his head, thinking “Someone helped him...like a guard?” He whispered the last part, unsure if there were any nearby.

“No. Not a guard or anyone else working here”.

Before Jack could reply, Pitch had a firm grip on his arm, pulling him along.

“Let go, you don’t have to drag me” Jack told him. Pitch let go and slowed to walk beside him.

“Does it bother you…to be touched?” Pitch asked, looking sideways at him.

Jack was stunned into silence by the unexpected question. He didn’t say a thing the rest of the way outside. His mind felt oddly blank. When Pitch wordlessly handed him a helmet he finally said; “Why’d you ask me that?” While making an effort to keep his features neutral, uncaring.

Pitch sighed. “Look at your hand.”

Confused, Jack raised his hand to eye level and starred at it. It was steady and pale. “What about it?”

“Be still”. Pitch stepped closer.

Jack looked at him suspiciously “Fine, this had better not be some sort of trick”.

Pitch lightly placed one hand on Jack’s upper arm. Jack wanted to pull away, but remained still. A thrill of fear ran through him. What if Pitch noticed something? Noticed his lack of warmth. But it was cold outside and his Jacket had done its job on the ride.

“What..?”

“You’re shaking” Pitch said, voice void of teasing.

The tremor was so slight. Only something a very observant person would notice. Pitch made a living on observation. Jack stepped back, heart pounding. He looked down, unable to meet Pitch’s gaze for fear it be filled with pity. Somehow, more than anything else, that would be unbearable.

“I’m not going to answer that question. Please don’t ask it again” Jack said in low voice, still looking at his shoes.

Pitch gave him one searching glance, frowning slightly “...Alright”.

The older man wordlessly mounted the bike and although he was loath to do so, Jack slid behind him. Once more, he wrapped his arms around Pitch’s narrow waist. This time he noticed the slight tremble and hated himself for it.

The brother of Sydney Stone lay pale and comatose upon a stark hospital bed. Jack stood at his bedside while Pitch spoke to a doctor. Quiet as a cat, he reappeared after only a few minutes. Jack was surprised they had been allowed to see the patient, but Pitch seemed able to get whatever he wanted.

“Did you find out anything useful?” Despite his discomfort, Jack was interested in the case. He studied the victim, overall his features didn’t resemble Sydney’s.

“It seems he was stabbed with something blunt, like a pen or pencil” Pitch watched the sleeping man as well. His mouth twisted into something like disgust

“Odd choice of weapon for a murderer, you’d think he’d use a gun or knife”.

“Right again and that’s our second clue. All that’s left is to make a visit to Mr. Stone’s house”.

Thoroughly confused, Jack frowned “Why do we need to visit his house?”

Pitch straightened “To find the weapon”.

By the time they reached Stone’s house Jack had to unfold himself stiffly. Steady his limbs. He was starting to enjoy the smooth speed despite himself. Pitch dismounted neatly and slipped on a thin pair of leather gloves.

The house had pillars and flourishes, a sort of miniature mansion. They walked down the long, white pebbled path to a darkly stained front door. Pitch rang the bell several times, tapping his foot. The heavy footsteps of Sydney Stone could be heard from within as he made his way to the door. It was flung open, the small man stood in the doorway, wringing his hands.

“Did you find him?” Small, brown eyes darted between Pitch and Jack.

“I did. May we come in for a moment?” Pitch said, all manners and charm.

“Sure, sure” Sydney turned and walked back inside.

Jack tossed Pitch a ‘what the hell are you talking about’ look behind Sydney’s back.

Pitch half smiled and pressed a thin finger to his lips “Shhhh”.

For a moment, Jack wanted to laugh at the funny gesture, funny on Pitch at least. Instead he scowled at the other man and shrugged his shoulders.

They followed Sydney through the lavish house to a sitting room. The man was definitely rich, plush rugs, dark wood floors, and modernistic paintings. Jack noticed Pitch looking around; he seemed to be searching for something. Rather than take the seat offered to him, Pitch continued purposefully through the room to the office beyond.

“What are you doing? Hey! That room is private. Don’t go in there!” Sydney made a grab at him, but Pitch stepped easily around the grasping hands. He grabbed all of the pens and pencils out of a cup on the office desk and strode out around the other side of the couch. Sydney tried to follow him, but Pitch was much faster.

Jack watched them circle the couch wordlessly, mouth slightly agape, unsure if he should intervene. It was like some sort of tag parody. Pitch began plucking pens from his fistful, tossing them to the side. With an exclamation of satisfaction, he seemed to have found the one he wanted. Dropping all the others, he held it out in from of him like some sort of shield. The sweaty and now red faced Sydney stopped, a look of horror crossing his features.

“You helped that murderer out of prison in exchange for killing your brother didn’t you? For whatever reason, he couldn’t do it. You had to do it…with the only weapon you had, a pen”.

“Wh…Why would you think that?” the blood was now draining from Sydney’s face, leaving him sheet-white.

Pitch towered over the smaller man, eyes narrowing into slits. In a low voice, full of enough menace to raise the hairs on Jack’s arms Pitch said; “You fool. Your pen is covered in blood. How easy you made it. For someone who deals frequently with criminals, you’re a failure”.

“You can’t prove that!” he sounded pitiful, terrified.

With a short mirthless laugh Pitch said; “Oh, but I can! There isn’t a trace of the escapee anywhere, he ran for it as soon as you got him out didn’t he? You even called an ambulance, but I’m sure you thought your brother was dead. If we look at your phone history there won’t be a call from any one at all. The sloppiest part was keeping the pen. Did you want a trophy?”

A look of Rage crossed Sydney’s flabby face. He raised a fist as if to take a swing at Pitch. In a movement so quick it was difficult for Jack to follow, Pitch grabbed Sydney’s chin roughly. Face twisted viciously, he starred into the other man’s eyes. Arms going limp, Sydney began to shake, his face a picture of terror. A cut off gurgling sound echoed against high ceilings. Seconds passed before Sydney’s knees buckled, leaving him kneeling. Pitch released his grip and watched the ruined criminal crumple to the floor.

Jack stood rooted to the spot, not ten feet away from the pair, heart pounding. He felt the air grow colder around himself. A shock of panic spiked through him and he shoved the bubbling power back down inside.

Breathe hissing out quietly, he dug bloody half-moons into his palms, the pain bringing a sharp clarity. Pitch didn’t seem to notice.

“Now, it’s all out in the open, you may as well tell us why you tried to kill your own flesh and blood” Pitch said evenly despite the dangerous note it carried. He watching the quivering lump that was now Sydney Stone.

“I hate him! My wife left me! Left me for my brother! He took her away and she committed suicide a year later! I’ll kill Him! I’ll fucking kill him!” he sobbed from underneath the arm covering his face, a weak hatred coloring his voice.

Pitch looked down at the man in a disgusted manner, eyes devoid of any compassion. “Jack, call the police. They can come get this worthless being”.

Jack slowly pulled out his phone, in a kind of shock over what he had witnessed. He dialed and gave an officer the address.

The police arrived in minutes. They rushed inside, all but ignoring Jack and escorting a dull-eyed Sydney to the waiting cop car. Pitch dropped the pen into an evidence bag while explaining the situation to one of the officers. The man seemed to know Pitch. Shortly afterward, he rejoined Jack.

Jack shoved his hands into the pockets of his Jacket, effectively hiding his palms.

“All in a day’s work” Pitch stretched languidly, seemingly relaxed.

“…What in holy hell did you do to that man? How did you know he helped the convict?” Jack walked back outside, no longer able to stay inside, especially in Sydney’s home.

He turned his face to the clouded sky. Droplets settled onto his skin and hair. He breathed a deep breath. It always felt better to be out where he could feel the wind and taste the weather.

Turning, he looked at Pitch, waiting for an answer.

Pitch looked at him speculatively “Should I tell you…?”

“What?” Jack was interested despite himself. He shook his head, scattering drops. The cop cars had left, taking Stone with them. They were alone in the driveway.

“I could just show you”.

“Show me what?” Jack winced as he clenched his fists inside his Jacket.

“Look at me”.

Jack glanced up, confused, annoyed.

“No, really look at me” In one long stride, Pitch stood directly in front of Jack. He was at least half a foot taller, forcing Jack to tilt his head up.

Before he could even think of backing away, Pitch’s golden eyes held him in place, his arms felt heavy as lead. Words of protest stuck in his throat. A strange dread bloomed in his gut. His fears seemed to rise to the surface, fear of discovery, fear of touch, loneliness, pain…Jack gasped in a breath as Pitch stepped back. He bent in half, hugging himself, trying to gain back some small piece of composure. Frost pushed at his fingertips, wanting out.

Pitch’s pupils were dilated, his chest rose and fell “Jack, I didn’t realize…”

“What….What did you do?” He managed to straighten, force the cold down again. Pitch was looking at him in a strange manner…almost hungrily.

“I sense fears, pull them to the surface” he closed his eyes, breathing in…smelling the air. “Why Jack, there’s no need to fear me” golden eyes regarded him thoughtfully, half closed.

Jack took several steps back, face stricken. He felt laid bare, exposed. “You read my fears?”

Pitch closed his eyes, exhaling. “That is what I do”.

“How much…did you see?”

“You fear the exposure of a secret…that’s a strong one…As to what that secret is, I don’t know. Fears are tricky to read, they shift, wax and wane. There are several others I could name…”

“That’s enough. I believe you…just stop…” Jack took several deep inhales of cold air, re-stuffing trembling hands into his pockets, trying to process what had just happened.

A strange thrill of relief ran through him, he wasn't the only one with strange abilities. It helped wipe away the lingering fear. But he still wasn't about to dish his own secrets. “You knew Stone was faking it the entire time didn’t you?”

Pitch smiled mirthlessly. “I did, but it is necessary to follow the traditional route of investigation in order to provide tangible proof, work within the law…For all his lies, Mr. Stone still feared discovery. Thought he was creating the best cover by hiring me, but all he really did was walk in and say ‘I did it’.”

Jack snorted “True…but I wouldn’t exactly call what you did working inside the law”.

Pitch quirked one brow “I am entitled to my secrets and their uses, just as you are to yours…At least I use what’s at my disposal”.

The words were a small blow. Jack frowned, but decided he wasn’t in the mood to begin a battle of wits.

Suddenly, Jack felt very tired “I couldn’t do anything and you didn’t need my help, why am I even here?”

“It’s not a matter of you doing or not doing, despite what you think, you did help me”.

“If you say so. Can we head back now?”

“No. We’re going to eat something first. As a thank you, it’s my treat”.

Jack wasn’t left with much of a choice in the matter. With Pitch being new in town, he recommended the ‘Moonbeam Café’. It was known for a strange range of drinks and pastries, from chocolate bacon croissants to a grasshopper pie steamer. Jack ordered an iced chai and several chocolate peppermint cookies. Pitch stared at the menu for a good five minutes before ordering ‘The Reaper’ comprised of absurd amounts of dark chocolate and cinnamon.

They slid into a booth, facing one another.

Jack didn’t know where to look and focused on swirling his drink.

“God this is good, new addiction” Pitch said, wrapping slim fingers around a moon stamped paper cup, absorbing it’s warmth.

Jack’s breath huffed out in an almost laugh as he tried to keep a straight face. He wanted to be mad at Pitch, hated the fact that parts of secrets he’d kept for years had been read as easily as an open book. Yet…he wanted to know more.

“Zoning out?” Pitch slowly licked a spot of whip cream from the rim of his cup, eyes glinting mischievously. “Delicious”.

Jack felt his breath catch as he looked into Pitch’s eyes. Something inside him fluttered...and it wasn’t fear.

Pitch looked away, smile widening. “So, how long have you owned Frostbook?”

Jack blinked, he had the distinct impression of being teased. He frowned and took a sip. “Two years now”.

“From here originally?” Pitch asked, tracing the designs on his cup.

“No…” He absolutely did not want to talk about his past.

Pitch squinted at him for a moment “What about the place appealed to you?”

Jack shifted, aware that Pitch had probably just sensed his fear. “The weather”.

“You enjoy the rain and snow?” Pitch smirked.

“Yes” he said defensively. “Why’d you move here?”

“Before I came here, I did a lot of traveling for different cases. I’m finally ready for a home base".

“Makes sense…compared to past cases, how hard was this one?”

“Easy; we did manage to wrap it up in several hours”.

Jack nodded “I suppose it would be with your super hero sensing powers”.

Pitch chuckled “You really have read far too much fiction”. In the next second his face became serious, voice carrying a heavy note “I’m no hero Jack, never forget that”.

There was such a finality to the words that Jack felt he shouldn’t ask their meaning. He munched his cookies in silence.

“I’ve never tried chai before” Pitch said unexpectedly.

“Really, but you seem well traveled. I’m surprised”.

“All right then smart-ass, hand it over” Pitch crooked his fingers.

“Get your own, I’m in no mood to share” Jack said flatly.

“Stubborn and sulky. How sweet”.

“Shall we leave?” Pitch asked a few minutes later.

“Yeah”.

It was night time and the smell of rain soaked asphalt and decaying leaves filled the air. Clouds shifted ominously overhead. Jack wished to be amongst them, make them his own. Thankfully Pitch seemed not to notice his temperature through the layers of clothing he wore. Rather than keep the cold out, it was trapped inside. Jack squeezed his eyes shut, feeling several stray drops slide under his collar and begin to freeze there.

Jack swung behind Pitch again. The ride was silent except for the buzz of passing cars. Pitch had to be feeling his fear, feel the shaking of his hands.

“I don’t want to intrude again, but I haven’t been able to find my towels yet, do you think I could borrow one?” Pitch asked, for once in a polite manner.

He was shivering Jack noticed “Fine, can’t have you dying of pneumonia on my account”.

“Oh, you’re really too kind” the sarcasm was back.

Upstairs, Jack handed Pitch a blue striped towel and stepped into the other room to strip off his dripping clothes. He changed into a simple black long sleeve shirt and blue cotton pants. Hair a little wet, Jack treaded back into the living room to find Pitch waving his Jacket in front of the heater.

Jack stayed away from the heat producing box. It was there for show more than anything else, his apartment almost always cold. The heat wasn’t severely damaging to Jack, but it was uncomfortable. “Why don’t you go back home and change?”

“I’m not all that wet, my jacket reflected the worst of it”.

“Then why did you need to come here?”

“All my things are packed”.

“In short, you wanted to mooch off me”.

“Maybe” Pitch smiled. “…What do you think about being my assistant occasionally?”

“I already have a job that occupies most my time”.

Pitch snorted. “You have plenty of spare time before and after opening, besides, it’s your shop and you can make your own hours. Just think about it. With what you are, it can’t be alright for you to spend so long indoors or in one place”

“What I am?” Jack felt his stomach clench.

Pitch looked about to laugh, but stopped at the serious expression on Jack’s face.

“You really don’t know” Pitch for, first time, looked shocked.

“What am I?” Jack whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the first chapter of 'Frostbitten'! I've been working on this one for some time and finally felt ready to release it. I can't promise that every chapter will be this long, but I'll try. I know this is way different from my 'Rise of the Guardians: a Romantic Sequel' (if you've read it) but I felt like writing something a bit darker. Any Comments are really appreciated, I love to read feedback and it helps me find the inspiration to get new chapters out faster! Considering the time it took me to write this chapter, it may be a bit before I have another finished.  
> Thanks for reading! -WinterBerry


	2. Breathe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pitch makes Jack an offer that may bring him the answers he's searched a life time for.

Silently Jack stared at Pitch, his mind in chaos. How could this almost-stranger know? He’d searched most his life for any insight as to where his abnormalities stemmed from. There was a slim chance that Pitch was referring to something beside his preternatural abilities. Jack straightened his features, reigned in the physical manifestations of his inner turmoil. After all, he’d had years of practice. “What is it that you think I am? I already know I’m a bibliophilic shut in” he smiled a half smile. What he really wanted to do was grab the front of Pitch’s overly fashionable Jacket and shake the answers out of him. Pitch’s face had slowly gone from shock to something unreadable.

“I wasn’t referring to those charming qualities…Why are you so afraid?”

Jack glared at him. “Don’t.”

Pitch tilted his head, regarding. “What?”

Jack found himself standing “Read my fears! They’re private”.

Pitch raised one brow “Feeling fear isn’t something I can turn on and off. I can’t read specific fears unless I do so with purpose, but I will know if you are afraid”.

Niv wound between Jack’s legs. He let out a breath. Seeing her calmed his nerves.

Pitch regarded the cat from across the room. “Is that yours?”

Jack frowned “Yes, her name is Niveous”.

“Snow like?”

“I’m surprised you know”.

“I do read despite not owning the Alexandria library”

Jack sat back down, Niv in his lap. She kneaded his jean clad legs painfully. The odd little exchange about his cat had somehow diffused the situation. He scratched absently behind her ear. “I need some answers”.

Pitch regarded him seriously “You really don’t know…That explains a lot…You’re fey”.

Jack stood again, practically sending Niv flying “I’m a fucking fairy!?”

Pitch didn’t move, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “Banish any wee sweet imaginings. True fey are quite different from their literary counterparts”.

“What are you, a leprechaun?” Jack snorted despite himself.

Pitch’s face was indignant “I most certainly am not, it’s rude to ask a fey you don’t know well such a question”.

“So you’re a fairy too?” Jack asked, studying Pitch anew.

Pitch sighed, eyes rolling. “That’s not a favored term, but yes. Of a sort”.

Jack considered this for a moment. “If I’m a…fey…why am I not, uh, with them?”

Pitch paused for a moment, before carefully saying; “Were your parents…normal?”

“Most definitely. Not the best examples of humanity, but human none the less”.

Pitch’s brow came together at this “I see. It’s a rarer occurrence in this modern era, but I believe you to be a changeling”.

Jack remembered reading the term in some forgotten novel. “A fairy…switched me with a human baby?” He rested his forehead in one palm. His parents weren’t really…his parents. That was both a shock and somewhat of a relief. How much better could his non-human parents be if they’d switched him for a different child? He felt a bubble of anger rise. Why would his fey parents condemn him to such a life? A life in which he was sure to be misunderstood and feared.

Pitch nodded “You know your folklore”.

“Why?” Jack said, making an effort to keep his voice calm and level.

Unblinking yellow eyes seemed to stare into his soul. “If a fey child is sick or disfigured the fey parent will switch it for a healthy human child. Generally…such a child does not last long in the human world. You, however, seem to be neither of those things. Therein lies the mystery”.

“I’ve never been sick, not once…How is it possible that my…human parents didn’t notice that their child had been replaced?”

“Generally the fey will choose a child similar in appearance to their own or cast a glamour which wears away at such a slow rate that any changes in appearance go unnoticed…I take it your parents were not understanding”.

Jack looked away. No matter the passage of time, thinking of them brought forth a deep seated ache. Jack sucked in a shaky breath. “…No, they weren’t”.

“Oh Jack…”

“It’s fine. That was a long time ago” Jack didn’t want anyone’s sympathy. So many times he’d had to put himself back together, glue the little shards of his being back into place. Now it felt as though the cracks had begun to show as Pitch pulled the pieces apart. The thought of losing his composure frightened him beyond belief, hard heartedness had been his constant protector through the years.

There was also the fact that both sets of parents, the people who were supposed to look out for him most, had completely fucked him over. Overwhelming he felt angry, an icy-hot sort of anger that caused him to exhale a cloudy breath as frost pushed through his finger tips and swirled into patterns on his jeans. Stupid confused tears threatened to overflow. He used the knotted resentment to push them down along with his self-sorrow.

He clenched his fists, wincing as the just-scabbed-over half-moons reopened. Taking another shaky breath, he risked a glance up.

Pitch sat on the extreme edge of his chair, long fingers digging into the overstuffed cushion, eyes wide. Jack froze in place. “Pitch…?”

The expression on Pitch’s face was…hungry.

“What...?” Jack could feel his heart beating a little too fast.

“Your fears,” Pitch closed his eyes, inhaling “are exquisite”.

Reliving past fears suddenly turned into very real fright and Jack had to fight to stay seated when every instinct told him to get up and run. Niv hissed and ran straight for Jack’s room.

The sound startled Pitch from his sate and his rigid posture relaxed into a something less threatening as he blinked slowly. “…I’ve frightened you”. An expression of mild regret graced his features.

Jack swallowed once. Heart still beating just a little too fast. “Yeah, thanks for that. Poor Niv is probably cowering under my bed now.”

“Your fluff ball will recover…I would apologize, but I can’t promise that it will not happen again, if you accept my proposal that is”.

“I have no experience as I’ve already said, I still don’t understand why you’re so freakin determined that I become your little helper”.

“Jack, you truly don’t understand how special you are. While I don’t know the exact details of your heritage, there is no doubt in my mind that you are a powerful fey in your own right. One with further unknown potential. It’s rare to find those like us assimilated into the human world to such a degree. While I do take on the occasional human client, I mainly deal in fey cases that cross into the human realm”.

“…You’re not investigating me are you?”

Pitch looked genuinely surprised. “I was somewhat shocked to discover another fey was to be my new neighbor, but you have done nothing wrong nor have you exposed the secret of what you are, far as I can tell. I cannot imagine the difficulties of not knowing or understanding the true identity of oneself…Even if you had let slip some part of your nature how could you possibly be blamed for it?”

Jack was silent for a moment, it felt strange…and nice to hear someone say as much. It was the first time he’d spoken of his preternatural side and felt blameless for simply having been born. “I’ve never let anyone know about my abilities…not after my parents”.

“I suppose that makes sense” Pitch’s face said he wanted to ask more, but didn’t want to push Jack too far.

Jack tensed, dreading the next question.

Instead, Pitch said “I have a new proposal for you. I will teach you about the fey world, help you learn how to better control your abilities and…we could look for your blood parents…If you will agree to my original request”.

A million thoughts rushed through Jack’s head all at once. Did he really want to find his real parents? Did Pitch have any ulterior motives for wanting to help him? Could the answers he’d yearned for since childhood be at his fingertips? He took a deep breath and pressed his stinging palms together to stop his hands shaking. What was there left to loose, peace of mind? But that particular state had gone out the window long ago. “Alright”.

Pitch smiled widely. All of his teeth, Jack noticed, were slightly pointed.

“Then” Pitch said “We have an arrangement”. A thousand secrets glittered behind his unfathomable golden eyes.

A sense of foreboding sent a tremor through Jack’s core. He knew he was entering into something unknown…something dangerous. “Yeah…why do I feel like I’m signing something?

“Words hold great weight amongst our kind and indebting yourself to another fey is not something to be done lightly…Perhaps, despite not being raised inside the realm, your instincts are that of a fey”.

Jack silently considered this observation, unsure as to whether or not he liked it. He was silent for a long moment, caught in a whirlwind of thought.

Pitch stood and stepped up to one of the many book cases, this one painted a soft grey with midnight blue velvet lining. He pressed a hand to the top row and ran it slowly across the spines. At the bottom shelf he stopped and pulled out a fabric bound volume detailed with delicate leaf patterns. Slim fingers tilted the cover open. “The Lord of the Rings. This one is your favorite?”

Jack was surprised out of his ruminating by the unexpected question. “Yeah, how’d you know?”

“This is not an original cover. You had to have read it enough times to cause it to fall off, but you were attached and made new bindings. I see several others have been recovered similarly, but this fabric is the finest”.

Jack snorted “I guess I should have expected that sort of answer from an investigator”. Internally he was impressed, but he decided that Pitch’s ego didn’t need any further stoking.

The side of Pitch’s mouth twitched up. “He had a strange feeling as the slow gurgling stream slipped by: his old life lay behind in the mists, dark adventure lay in front” he quoted.

Jack felt his eyebrows rise involuntarily. It was just going to be a night of surprises. “You read Tolkien?”

“Don’t look so shocked, it’s a fiction classic. Plus Gandalf is bad ass.”

This caused Jack to duck his head and shake with silent laughter “Definitely”.

“Do you own the movie?”

“Yeah”.

“Let’s watch it”.

“Right now?”

Pitch rolled his eyes again “No, next week. Yes, right now”.

“Don’t be so damn bossy…aren’t we supposed to be discussing my fairy lineage?”

“I think…you have had enough for today” Pitch said, almost delicately.

Jack felt slightly insulted for a moment, but let it pass. “…I guess we could watch it”.

Pitch grinned and managed to slide down the arm of the chair he occupied to sit facing the TV in one graceful movement. Jack popped in the DVD and flopped down on the unoccupied couch. Frodo had just made it to the inn to meet Gandalf when he drifted off.

The morning sun was too bright. Jack woke lying on the couch, covered by a blanket. For a moment he didn’t understand why he had fallen asleep there. Suddenly the day before came flooding back. Pitch, he thought, must have left sometime during the night. But he’d covered Jack with a blanket first. It felt odd to have someone make such a gesture. He shook his head slowly, flung it off and headed for the shower.

The freezing water poured between his shoulder blades, soothing some of the tension created by sleeping on the sofa. Afterward he toweled his hair and put on deep green long sleeve shirt and black jeans. It was Sunday, his day off. He ate instant oatmeal, turned on some music and began unloading a basket of fabric onto the floor. In the corner was a bin of sad dog eared books. Dragging those over along with a few other supplies he got to work. As a sort of side job he recovered books. Most were common novels, but sometimes someone would bring in an old or unique volume which he would take extra care with. Putting on his reading glasses, he began peeling off old covers, realigning and measuring. It was an excellent task to loose oneself in, however Pitch resurfaced as soon as he entered his meditative state.

Suddenly the door banged open, and Pitch himself stepped over the threshold bearing two lidded cups, one hot, one iced.

Jack scowled “Do you ever bother to knock?”

Pitch regarded him without regret. “I thought you would still be asleep”.

Jack sighed, resigned. “No…I like to get up a little earlier on Sundays. It’s my day off and I usually work on book repairs”.

“Here” Pitch handed him the iced beverage. “I went back to Alchemy. I wanted to try the chai, since someone was being stingy during our first visit. I brought you the iced version…book binding, that’s an interesting talent”.

Jack’s scowl lessened a little as the sugar and caffeine hit his veins.

“You’re thinking it’s something an old man would be doing aren’t you?”

“Not particularly, you don’t have much in the way of used ones downstairs” He perched on a stack of heavy tomes.

“Most people want the new releases. I only started doing this when my own books began to wear; it’s been a hobby for a long time”.

“Mind if I watch for a bit?”

“I guess not”.

They both sat without speaking for a moment. “Is this Muse?” Pitch asked, referring to the music issuing from the stereo.

Jack didn’t look up “Yeah”. Pitch began to sing under his breath.

“You would say anything

You would try anything

To escape your meaningless

And your insignificance”

“Would you stop that!” Jack said before Pitch could utter another line. It wasn’t that his voice was bad; it was disconcerting. The soft and silky tone sent a shiver up Jack’s spine.

Instead, Pitch hummed the tune. This lasted a good thirty seconds before Jack aimed a kick at him, which he dodged easily.

“For God’s sake! Do you actually need something?”

Pitch grinned evilly. “No, just checking to make sure our little conversation didn’t cause you to make a break for it”.

“Why would I do that, you have my answers”.

“I see. I’ll be back when a case surfaces”

“Hey, aren’t you supposed to be giving me some answers?”

Pitch was already at the door “Next time”.

“Sadist” Jack said under his breath, but the door had already closed.

Several days passed and during that time Pitch didn’t visit or ask for his assistance. Jack began to wonder if he had meant what he had said or if he had only been a temporary interest to the odd man. He had just begun to think these thoughts while staring blankly into a book. The indoor jitters were worse than ever due to the fact that he’d stayed in in-case Pitch decided to call on him.

It was a Tuesday and business was slow. The bell on the shop door tinkled as someone walked in. He didn’t look up, but continued his self-torment. Somewhat distantly he realized a pair of light foot treads was approaching the counter. Finally, the steps came to a halt. A pair of hands suddenly removed the book from his grasp. Jack looked up to find himself face to face with none other than Pitch himself. His eyes widened and his heart stuttered once in surprise. Whenever something frightened him, he had the strange habit of internalizing his reaction. Pitch grinned, feeling it all.

“What’re you doing here?” he said, trying to remain cool on the outside.

“Quite the pleasant welcome as usual. Did you miss me?”

“It’s not as if you were gone for a month”.

Pitch clutched a hand to his heart “I’m wounded!” he turned the stolen book over in his hands “A Study in Scarlet, You’re reading Sherlock Holmes?”

Jack reached out and grabbed it from Pitch, who actually let him take it.

“Sorry to leave you waiting. I’ve been researching the area and settling in”.

“I’ve been alone a long time. It’s not something I’m unused to”.

“It’s easier to miss something when you get a taste of it”.

“A taste?”

Pitch smiled his shark smile. “Just a simile. Let’s go, we’ve got a live wire to follow”.

Jack was interested…but he was also in a bad mood. “For the love of god! I run a shop and it’s open right now!”

Pitch looked around slowly “I don’t see anyone here. You’re coming”.

When someone outright ordered him to do something Jack felt the uncontrollable urge to rebel. “Who made you my boss?”

“You did, when you agreed to our arrangement. Besides, you’re sitting here looking all depressed and reading Sherlock”.

Jack sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “How long would we be gone?”

“A couple of hours”.

“Just don’t forget your end of the bargain…I guess I’ll go”

Pitch rocked back on the balls of his feet, his expression said he’d never had a doubt that Jack would come. “Good! Now you might want to get a jacket, it’s drizzling out there”.

“I assume we’re taking your bike, you know that’s a horrible vehicle for the weather here”.

“I can’t bring myself to part with it. She’s gotten me through many a scrape, my Nightmare”.

“I still can’t believe you named your motorcycle.”

“So?” Pitch raised one brow.

Rather than start in on THAT one Jack went upstairs to grab a jacket. He chose a knee length deep blue wool piece, it was more to repel the rain as the cold didn’t bother him. Pitch turned and was out the door with Jack on his heels. It was drizzling a cool misty drizzle. The air smelled like greenery. Jack left a note and locked up.

“Where are we going?” Jack said loudly over the rumble of the bike as he fastened the spare helmet under his chin.

“To solve the gnome mystery”.

“Gnome?”

“Yes, gnome”.

Before he could ask anything else, they were off. Jack was forced to hang on and he tried to distract himself from the physical contact and his creeping internal cold with possible gnome scenarios.

Soon they reached a cookie cutter neighborhood and turned into a cul-de-sac. In every front yard was a lewd gnome of some sort. Pitch pulled into a driveway at the end.

“What’s with…the naughty garden gnomes?”

“That’s why we’re here; it seems the ritzy suburban residents do not find them to be amusing. They remove them every day only to have new ones replace them during the night. They’ve tried to get the police on the case but were laughed off. So, the richest guy in the cul-de-sac hired me to take care of it” Pitch’s tone held a hint of sarcasm.

“You seem to find this a little beneath you, why’d you even take the job?”

“…The rent is coming up and the pay was too good to pass up”.

Jack smirked a little. “Ah…how exactly do you plan to catch the perpetrator?”

“We’re going to have a stakeout”

“Really? It’s probably just some kid playing a practical joke”.

“That may be true, but when I accept a job, I don’t do it half way”

“Why did I even have to come, it sounds fairly simple”.

“It would have been boring” Pitch said nonchalantly.

“So I’m ‘entertainment’?” he was starting to become angry. Jamming his hands into his pockets he stalked away from Pitch.

“Jack!” Pitch caught up to walk beside him. “I didn’t mean that, I might have to jump this person, and I really do need you”.

Jack didn’t understand why the man delighted in poking and prodding him. He had become quite adept at keeping a calm, almost emotionless exterior, trying to find solace inside the multitude of worlds he obtained from his books. He didn’t need friends he had come to think sometime during adolescence. He could use the material all around him to create an ideal universe right inside his own mind. Yet, somehow, Pitch knew just what to say in order to pull him to the surface, to boil the emotions he had long kept cool. And just when Jack had reached the point where he wanted to escape, Pitch spouted some line about how he was needed and Jack was pulled in again, pulled into Pitch’s world. His world…

Jack stood for a moment, compressing the surge of frustration and confusion. He wanted answers, but Pitch was making him pay dearly to get them. When he turned, he was composed once more.

“Fine. I did tell you I would help and I’m not one to go back on my word” even as he said the words, somewhere deep inside was the fear that he really was only being used to satiate some extreme case of boredom.

Pitch had one arm up as if he had intended to grab Jack in order to prevent his leaving. An odd sort of distress passed over his features. “…Let’s go find a spot to wait, we’ll have to hide the bike around the corner, so as not to arouse suspicion” he said dropping the arm.

The motorcycle hidden, Pitch eyed the area, looking for a hiding place. “The man who hired me said we could use his yard and that tree looks like a decent spot” he pointed to a huge leafy oak in the front lawn of a neat pastel green home. “First we’ll have to remove the current gnomes to give the culprit a reason to come out”

Twelve discarded gnomes later, they both sat in the middle branches of the tree. A natural U made a fairly comfortable perch. Jack had been tempted to fly up to the top, but was still uncomfortable revealing that side of himself.

It was just large enough for the both of them, the other branches were too thin or visible to be viable. Jack felt awkward, sitting in such close proximity, his arm just touching Pitch’s. Although it wasn’t raining, droplets still clung to the tree and silently fell to the moist ground below. One went down the back of Faine’s coat. It froze there and then cracked as he stretched back slightly. A shudder worked its way up his spine.

“You alright?” Pitch asked with one eyebrow quirked.

“Just fine” Jack said, leaning against the vertical branch to his right and pulling his collar closer.

“I thought you liked the rain” Pitch smirked at him, his own dampened hair falling forward.

“I do like it, just not stuck in a tree”.

“How do you like it then?”

“I like it better when it snows, but at least rain isn’t sunshine”.

“I see” Pitch sounded a little disappointed for who-know-what reason.

Speaking of, the sun was just disappearing and the last of the glow lit the puddles like mirrors.

“You know, it’s been a bit longer than a few hours”.

“That may be true, but isn’t this better than the same old routine I’m sure you follow every single day?”

“I don’t do the EXACT same thing every day”.

“Alright then, how do you get you’re thrills, what do you change?”

Looking down at his dangling feet Jack said “Sometimes I become…more…more my true self and go out at night…or read a new book”.

Pitch snorted “Alone? That does NOT count…isn’t this better, living the story?”

Jack was silent. Suddenly a rustling came from the back of the home they hid in front of. A small figure emerged from what appeared to be a rabbit hole. Followed by several more, they carried sacks on their backs almost twice their size.

“There’s our guys…they almost look like Santas, with their sacks” Pitch whispered.

As they came into view, Jack thought that they were the furthest thing from Santa there could possibly be. Their hair was long knotted and filthy, broken yellow teeth glistened in wide mouths and mud brown eyes shone in the wan light. Clothed in bits of rag and plant they slunk on bare hairy feet in the direction of the tree. Tiny they were, yet terrifying. “Only if Santa were a cave mining midget with a penchants for violence” Jack told him with a frown. They made the yard statues look pretty.

Pitch muffled a laugh behind his sleeve.

“I wasn’t trying to be funny” Jack told him.

“Oh, but you are…here they come. They should walk right under us. Now, these are wild gnomes, we just have to terrify them enough to move out”. Pitch spoke quickly and quietly.

“How are we supposed to do that, those things look like hell spawn!”

“They’re not that bad, tricksters not murderers”.

“I don’t know about that” Jack hissed back at him.

Pitch grinned “they’re stupid, and we just have to convince them that there is something nastier moving in”.

The beasties were feet away now, tromping along in single file, a skip in their step as they went about their deed.

“Now!” Pitch leaped from the tree and landed like a cat in front of the gnomes. They stopped, surprise freezing them in place. With a growl, the filthiest one in front, leapt at Pitch. Pitch spread both arms and for one absurd moment, Jack thought Pitch was going to embrace the creature. Instead, Liquid shadow and night seemed to billow out from his coat. The gnomes gave out a chorus of screeches and began to run up the road, Pitch on their tails. Jack flew out of the tree, landed softly on the grass and took off after Pitch.

Pitch was grinning a little too gleefully as he surfed the shadows, letting them just touch the backs of the terrified gnomes. Jack was forced to call the wind to speed his own feet. The gnome’s size certainly bellied their speed. Jack couldn’t help but laugh, it was all too ridiculous. He shot a burst of ice at one of the half-naked backsides and laughed harder. They reached the end of the road and the squealing gnomes ran into an empty field, disappearing into the undergrowth. Jack slowed to a stop beside Pitch, breathing just a little harder than usual.

They looked at each other for a moment and burst into laughter. Pitch’s laugh was deep and velvety. “Did it work?” Jack asked him when he could talk again.

Pitch grinned “Most definitely”.

Shaking his head, Jack followed Pitch back down the street. “You already knew who it was didn’t you?” Jack asked him.

“Why would you think that?” Pitch said just a little too innocently for Jack’s taste.

“You knew what they were and how to get rid of them”.

“Simply comes with the territory of being fey…and I did not see any reason to ruin the mystery for you…that was quite an impressive move by the way”. Pitch was laughing again. “I almost feel sorry for the gnome”.

“I was just caught up in the moment”.

“I didn’t say there was anything wrong with it, I’m grateful you were with me, it probably would have gone south otherwise” he had stopped laughing, but his eyes still held a glint of laughter.

“Are you actually trying to thank me?”

“Maybe”.

“Huh” Jack said.

Pitch approached the front door of the blue house and rang the bell. A strict looking older man opened the front door. “Your problem is taken care of, as requested” Pitch said, voice smooth.

“You have my thanks” the man said and slipped Pitch an envelope before shutting the door with a click. Pitch sighed. He turned with a swish of his coat.

“Ready to head back?” he asked.

“Definitely, especially considering I’m now soaked to the bone, why on earth can’t you just get a car?” Jack didn’t mind the cold, but it was taking effort not to freeze the wet fabric, which would then cause his coat to turn into a hard shell.

“I already told you, I’m attached to my bike and it can do things no car can” now he was smiling an adrenaline junkie’s smile.

Jack frowned at him “Don’t go too crazy while I’m on the back”.

“Can’t make any promises, who knows, you might like it” said Pitch, still grinning.

“I don’t think anyone would enjoy flying off the back of that thing at high speeds”.

“Oh you’d be fine and if you hold on tight there won’t be any issues” Pitch’s face had split into a full blown Cheshire grin.

Jack groaned “I don’t even want to ride that death contraption anymore”.

“Come on, you’ll just have to trust that I won’t let anything happen to you” he turned and started walking around the corner; Jack striding after him.

On the way home Pitch put on the occasional burst of speed, causing Jack to grip tighter and Pitch to laugh. Jack could feel the vibration of it through the tips of his fingers.

Pitch slipped easily from the bike. Faine attempted to remove his helmet before dismounting but the buckles had managed to eat a piece of his hair, he yanked at it which didn’t help a bit.

“Stop that, I’ll get it off” Pitch said

“Not necessary, I’ve got it”.

“No, you don’t. Be still” He raised his hands to help.

Jack released the helmet to push Pitch away, causing him to slip part way off the bike. Pitch caught him, but Jack, who didn’t like being grabbed unexpectedly, tried to jerk away. He landed on top of Pitch in an awkward heap. Immediately, he rolled sideways off the other man.

“Why the hell did you do that?!” Pitch asked him after taking a deep breath, the air having been knocked from his lungs.

“I didn’t mean to…you surprised me” he turned his back on Pitch, still seated and began to tug in earnest at the still-tangled straps. He felt hands in his hair; he twitched slightly, but held still as Pitch silently unknotted the snarl responsible. Finished in seconds, Pitch stood and tossed the cover over the motor bike.

“Need a hand?” Pitch extended an arm.

After a moment’s hesitation Jack grasped it, not wanting to make the situation any more awkward than it already was. Pitch’s hand was warm against his own cod grip. The other man pulled him to his feet and Jack retracted his hand as soon as he thought was polite. Pitch made an odd face. He had noticed, but chose to say nothing.

“Jack…would you mind if I come in and buy a couple of books?”

“I don’t mind” Jack said, but he did. He felt unsteady. Pulling the old fashioned key from his pocket he unlocked the door. The comforting scent of paper filled him and he instantly felt more relaxed, this was his place, the place where he belonged. “I’m going to make some tea, go ahead and browse”.

“Sounds good to me” Pitch began walking the shelves.

Jack headed upstairs. His mind wandered as he measured loose leaf peppermint into two separate metal holders. The kettle whistled and he poured the boiling water into two green and blue glazed mugs. He didn’t like sugar in his mint tea, so he simply carried them down as is. He found that the peppermint gave the heat less effect. Pitch had amassed a small stack.

“Did you find the ones you were looking for?” Jack asked him.

“Some I was and some I was not” he set them down to accept the mug from Jack.

“That’s one of the things I love about books, you look for one and find another” Jack said.

“Yes” Pitch smiled slightly. He tasted the tea “Did you make this blend yourself, it has a unique flavor.”

“I did…I grow some of my own herbs”.

“I like it”.

“Thank you; you’re the first person beside myself to have any”.

“Why is that?”

“…I’m a loner I suppose”.

“Do you have any friends, from school perhaps?”

“No…even if I did once, they aren’t anymore. My books, my shop, they’re enough”.

“Are they really...” Pitch said, half questioning, half to himself.

Jack pretended he hadn’t heard. When he had left his home town, all he had wanted was simplicity, no friends, and no family. The occasional jaunt at night and the snow and rain. He had spent several years living the life he had assigned himself, suppressing every want for something more, distracting himself with the book worlds. Hiding his nature, scrounging bits of information from fairy tales and dubious websites. But Jack had begun wanting more, more adrenaline, more vibrancy, even companionship. Pitch encompassed all of these things and it both repelled and attracted his warring emotions and desires. Pitch held the answers and something more.

Pitch broke him from his revere “If the day comes when you’re prepared to talk about whatever happened, I’m here”.

“…My past is just that, the past”

“Sometimes the only way to live in the future is to relive your past to someone else”.

“That may be true for some, but I’m fine as is. I just want to find out who I really am, what I am”.

“Then quite trying to hide who you are, I’m not going to run away.”

“What do you know about who I am anyways?” Jack asked him not so much in anger as in self-defense.

Pitch smiled a wicked smile “The delight of the chase is like nothing else. Don’t dare say your heart didn’t leap during the pursuit tonight. Do you get that kind of high locked up here in this shop where it’s safe and comfortable? Or even flying around alone at night? I already know the answer; you already gave it when you chose to join me, not once, but twice. You can say it’s to get your answers, but we both know that’s only half of it. I know your fears, I can give you what you want, what you’ve really been searching for”.

Pitch had thrown it all in his face; he didn’t know how to react or what to say. He had worked so hard to keep an air of cool and calm about himself, to keep others at arm’s length. All of the secrets and emotions he’d hidden for years in some deep place inside his mind were coming to the surface like blood pouring from a wound, the flow wouldn’t stop and Pitch was the one wielding the knife. Finally, Jack had hit mental breakdown. He was dumbfounded as to how this man had just shown up and worked his way under the defenses he’d spent years erecting. He panicked, his breath coming faster and faster, he couldn’t stop. All the things he wanted and didn’t want to want tangled together.

“Jack…?! Calm down, you’re going to hyper ventilate”

But he couldn’t calm down, he couldn’t stop, he felt trapped inside his own body unable to escape the reaction. Pitch put his hands on Jack’s shoulders and shook him lightly.

“I didn’t mean for this to happen…just CALM DOWN!”

The color was draining from Jack’s face and his breathing was coming even faster. He didn’t even have the strength to push Pitch away, his limbs felt heavy. For the first time since meeting him, Jack could see a trace of real uncertainty on Pitch’s face. Dizziness was starting to overtake him. Dark gold eyes swam in his vision. The grip on his shoulders tightened along with Pitch’s expression. He leaned in and pressed his lips firmly to Jack’s. Jack stopped breathing altogether, eyes widening, hands trembling.

Pitch pulled back “BREATHE”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, sorry to make you wait so long for chapter two. I had a family loss over the last couple of months and some other things happened as well. Everything is alright now and I'm going to try and return to regular posts. This chapter is an extra long one to help make up for some of the lost time, let me know what you think!   
> -Winterberry


	3. Affliction

Jack pulled air deep into his lungs, taking several long gasping breaths, and then slowing to a more regular rhythm. He slid down the counter. Pitch didn’t touch him again, seeming to understand that doing so would cause more harm than good. 

“Why…why did you kiss me?” 

“Why?! You were hyper ventilating yourself into unconsciousness. I had to do something to shock you out of it…a kiss happened to be the best tool at my disposal” he removed Jack’s cup from the counter and sat on the floor across from him. Gently, he pressed it into Jack’s hands. 

“I don’t understand, why do you want to help me, why do you even care?” Jack said very quietly, bitterness coloring his tone. 

“Because, I have a past of my own and…I suppose solving these cases is my way of paying for past wrongs. You have a problem that needs solving and that is what I have come to exist to do”. 

Jack felt a painful ache in his chest. “I’m a problem…to be solved…?” 

Pitch frowned “Yes and no…you’re a peculiar being. I can see your wild soul just beneath the surface, yet you deny and suppress it. I find most people easily read, easily placed…not you. You’re a kindred spirit and yet my opposite. It makes me want to pull you apart, find the real you buried in all of that fear. I wasn’t trying to hurt you, but it seems that I’ve pushed too hard and done you more harm than good…I apologize”. 

Jack was stunned “I…are you trying to say you want to be friends?” 

Pitch smiled a half smile “Is that so hard to believe?” 

Jack looked down, gripping his cup tighter. “I don’t know. I don’t know you very well”. 

“Jack, I don’t go out of my way to be kind to people I have no interest in and I don’t pay attention to people I don’t care for”.   
“I already told you, I have no friends”. 

“Now you do” Pitch said, voice absolute. 

Jack tipped his head back, resting it against the counter. “I don’t even know what to say anymore, my brain is a mess”. 

“Then don’t say anything, don’t think so hard. Just do what feels right, do what you want for once, I give you permission if that’s what you need”. 

Jack didn’t say anything; he tipped his head foreword and regarded Pitch. He didn’t generally look people directly in the eye, as they say; the eyes are windows to the soul and it made him uncomfortable. Pitch stared back at him. His expression wasn’t joking or uncertain.

Jack sighed. Unable to take the awkwardness of the situation any longer, he pulled himself to his feet. “Um…you can have the books” he said, gesturing toward the stack. 

“Thank you” Pitch said, looking a little surprised. 

“Consider them a house warming gift”. 

Pitch smiled “That’s one of the first welcoming things I’ve heard you say”. 

“Well, it seems we’re going to have to coexist” 

“Oh we can do more than that”. 

“Maybe”. 

Pitch gathered his books “The tea was delicious, I’ll come by sometime tomorrow”. 

Jack shook his head “I can’t close the shop up two days in a row”. 

“We’ll just have to go after you’re closed”. 

“Huh”. 

With a last lingering glance, Pitch was out the door. Jack stood still for a moment until he heard the muffled thud of Pitch’s door closing. He locked his own and tested the knob, just to be sure. Like anyone would break in to steal books. Suddenly Jack realized he was very, very tired. He dragged himself upstairs and fell onto his bed. Kicking his shoes off, he simply lay there. Sometimes it was difficult to sleep, so many thoughts and ideas barraged his mind. This time, however, his body had other ideas and he passed out, shirt, jeans and all. 

 

Dim and watery sun light streamed through the curtains he hadn’t closed the night before. Jack groaned, his body felt stiff. Rolling sideways he read the clock it was shortly after eight. He trudged, zombie-like, into the kitchen where he started a pot of coffee. While it brewed he switched to some fresh clothes and sat trying to de-tangle his hair. Finally, the coffee was done and his appearance decent. The night before he’d skipped dinner and the raisin cinnamon bagel with lots of cream cheese was heaven. Niv pranced into the kitchen and promptly tipped over her water bowl. “Yes, I’m on it, breakfast coming right up” Jack told her. 

Drinking a second cup of coffee he trudged downstairs. It was silent, so silent after the events of the day before. A knock from the front door caused him to jump. It was just the delivery man. Jack signed for the box of new arrivals. Plunking it down on the counter, he plugged his MP3 into the downstairs speaker system. Today it was violin compositions of his favorite rock songs. He ripped the tape from the box; it was a collection of classic novels. The hard back collection of Ann Rice novels struck a nostalgic cord; he’d been a fan as a teenager. Till opening he worked on a window arrangement comprised of the new arrivals. 

A steady trickle of customers filtered through Frostbook as the hours slipped by. Toward the end of the day several young boys managed to pull down an entire section of books in under two minutes. The unobservant mother dragged them out with an apologetic glance. Jack let out a breath and simply chose to close, it was past five. 

For the first time in a very long time he truly couldn’t lose himself in a book world. Having begun and set aside about six different novels exasperation had finally set in. After flipping the open sign Jack turned to the mess with a sour expression. He knelt and began reorganizing the fallen books with care. 

He was halfway done when the bell attached to the door tinkled. Jack looked up to tell whoever it was that the shop had closed, but it was Pitch, a bag of takeout in his hand. 

“I’ve come…with dinner” he said in a sinister voice. A gust of wind and rain blew into the shop behind him as if for affect.

Jack raised an eyebrow at him, already in a disagreeable mood. 

Taking in Jack’s expression he said; “Did a goat eat your favorite paperback?” His eyes dropped from Jack’s face to the rest of the books on the floor. Without saying anything else, he kneeled and began restacking them neatly. 

“You don’t have to do that” Jack told him, tugging one away. 

“But I am”.   
Jack shook his head, but let him be. In a few moments everything had been put back to rights. Pitch cracked open the box of food. The delicious scent of sweet and sour chicken and fried rice filled the room. Wordlessly Pitch handed him a pair of paper incased chopsticks.   
Pitch’s came apart unevenly.

“Crooked chopsticks, crooked heart” Jack told him with a smirk. He broke his own with a snap, they were crooked too. 

Pitch grinned and recited;  
“O stand, stand at the window   
As the tears scald and start;  
You shall love your crooked neighbor  
With your crooked heart”.   
As if he’d said nothing Pitch expertly pinched a piece of chicken and ate it with a self-satisfied expression. 

“Are you seriously trying to start a quote war with a book store owner? I have like an entire library here and Auden is the best you can do?” He curled chow mien around his sticks. “And it’s such a miserable poem, about death and age”. 

“Hmmm, I’m afraid I disagree”. 

“Well, what do think it’s about?” Jack said, already losing patience. 

Pitch smiled oddly “maybe I’ll tell you someday”. 

Before Jack could spit out a biting comeback, Pitch said; “I’m leaving in the morning, for a case over in the next city over. Want to come?” 

Jack was still miffed. “When am I going to learn about the fey or go to the fey realm?” 

“Jack, I’m not sure you totally understand how dangerous it is to enter the realm…time works differently there and so do the people…it’s easy to become lost or something worse”. 

Pitch took in his stubborn expression and sighed. “What do you even know of your own abilities?” 

“I…” Jack didn’t know what to say, it still terrified him, the idea of sharing that part of himself with anyone else. 

“In time you’ll find your answers. The realm…it isn’t a place to be without knowing oneself”. 

“So, you’re saying that if I do a little soul searching you’ll take me to fairy land?” Jack smiled, knowing that Pitch disliked the term ‘fairy’. 

“Please don’t use that word, it puts me in mind of tutu clad children wearing butterfly wings”. 

“Oh god, anything but that” Jack couldn’t help but imagine Pitch thusly clothed. He almost shot a noodle from his nose. 

Pitch frowned at him “Don’t eat so fast”. 

“That’s not the issue…never mind. If I come on this trip, are you at least going to teach me to control my abilities?” 

“I have a little theory about your fey nature”. 

“What would that be?” Jack said cautiously. 

Pitch scooted the half-eaten food to the side. “Hmmm…Find the core your power”.

Jack mentally reached for the depthless chasm of ice that rested somewhere inside his chest. It always felt uncomfortable to get to close, like a painful childhood memory. He could feel the cold in his fingertips, prickling. 

“Alright?”

“You need to understand something; it’s a part of you, a part of your soul. It’s worthless to fight your very nature. Learn to accept it and then you will control it”. 

Jack’s face twisted. “I’ve had to hide my so called endowment for years in order not to be locked up in some sort of experimentation facility. My parents both hate and fear me. How am I ever going to accept something that only ever brought me despair?” 

Pitch’s brows met and his fingers clenched and unclenched as if in anger, but it wasn’t directed at Jack. “It’s abhorrent that you’ve been to feel as if that part of you is bad…your very center…but if you want to control your ability you’ll have to come to terms with it first.” 

Jack studied his nails. “So, I have some sort of mental block on it, that’s what you’re saying?” 

“Yes” Pitch said, voice soft. 

“I see…” Jack continued to study his nails. Somewhere deep inside he’d known this, yet he’d never consciously accepted it. “How am I supposed to do that? I mean, I’ve spent my entire life doing the opposite. I don’t…I can’t...” Jack slammed his hand down on the floor in frustration, sending out fanning patterns of ice. 

His breath caught and he drew his fingers into fists, pushing the cold back down. “I’m sor- 

“Don’t apologize”. Pitch reached out to trace the spiraling designs even as they melted away. “Beautiful” he said under his breath. “Jack, I’m not afraid of you nor do I hate the part of you filled with cold and ice. You aren’t alone anymore and there’s no need to hide from me. Just be yourself”. 

As seemed to be happening all too often, Jack found himself at a loss for words. 

“Come with me. Danger can be an excellent test of one’s character if you decide to do some soul searching”. Pitch was smiling mischievously now “It can’t be every day that handsome strangers offer up an adventure”. 

Jack let out a half laugh “Wow, nice to see you’ve got such high opinion of yourself and weren’t we out chasing those gnomes last week?” 

Pitch’s expression remained amused, undisturbed by the stab at his ego. “Oh, that was merely a sample. It was boring really, compared to what we’ll be doing”. 

“Was the takeout a bribe?” 

“Possibly”. 

“I already said I’d go if it didn’t interfere with the shop”. 

“Maybe I just wanted to share dinner with my neighbor and again; your shop your hours”. 

Jack sighed, caving. “Alright, alright…I’ll come”. 

Pitch looked pleased as he wound his fingers together. “You’ll need to pack an overnight bag. I’ll be back in the morning” he was already standing to brush off his coat. He turned and made for the door, but stopped halfway and glanced over his shoulder. “Good night…Jack” and then he was gone. 

Jack lay back on the floor. “What in the hell have I gotten myself into” he whispered to the room of silent books. 

Early the next morning Jack quickly made a small sign and taped it to the door, it read ‘Owner is traveling, be back soon’. In a navy canvas and leather back pack he stuffed a change of clothes and a few other essentials. Niveous sat watching, tail twitching in a way that suggested she knew he was leaving. “I’m going away for a few days Nivy, but I’m going to leave you a ton of food and water, alright?” She let out a mournful noise. “I know, but I think I have to do this” Jack told her, stroking a hand over her soft white ears. Sometime ago he’d bought a set of automated food and water dispensers and he set them up in the kitchen. Niv ran in, thrilled to have second breakfast. “Don’t eat too much at once, you’ll get fat while I’m gone” he told her, running a hand down her back one last time. 

Donning his knee length blue jacket he treaded downstairs, making sure to turn any lights off on the way. With a flick of the last switch, he was out the door, bag over one shoulder. Pitch was already leaning against the uncovered bike, spinning the key on one finger. 

“Ready?” 

“As I’ll ever be”. 

Pitch tossed him the extra helmet and tied their bags to the back. Just as they pulled out of the parking lot, Jack realized he’d have to hold onto Pitch for the next couple of hours. The panic attack resurfaced in his mind. He’d tried not to think about it all day, but that was now impossible. There was also…the kiss…why had he done it? Pitch had said it was the only way to help, but other methods came to mind. 

Thinking back, he remembered his last and only kiss. He’d been on a school trip, sitting alone on a drift wood bench. One of his few friends at the time, a girl with long, wavy hair sat beside him. She had said his name, he had turned and then she’d kissed him. He’d jerked back in surprise and then he had run as far as he could. At the time his revulsion of human touch, of any physical relationship had been stronger even than it was now. The girl hadn’t spoken to him again; it seemed his rejection had broken whatever fragile friendship they’d had. As he had become more closed off, the people he’d called friends drifted away when he’d needed them most. His arms began to shake, but he calmed himself, suppressed it. Instead he chose to focus on the scenery whizzing by. 

Pitch surpassed the speed limit, wove between cars and broke several other traffic laws. Jack was grateful for the helmet hiding his face because he was pretty sure that they were on the receiving end of more than a few hateful looks. He was still trying to adjust to the feeling of speeding through the air under someone else’s control. It was entirely different from the sensation of riding the night winds, yet he still found himself enjoying the thrill, laughing involuntarily when a sharp movement sent a burst of adrenaline through his system. It left him little time to dwell on where his arms rested. 

An hour or so later they pulled into a cracked drive. At the end was a house surrounded by yellow tape, a number of police officers swarmed the area. 

“I thought you didn’t work with the police?” Jack said, hanging his helmet besides Pitch’s. 

“There’s someone I know in the force and sometimes he sends me cases, unusual cases”. 

“Ah…what’s inside?” 

“A body”. 

Before Jack could ask any more questions, Pitch was striding down the drive like an ice cream shop waited at the end. 

Jack caught up to Pitch at the yellow tape. The officer guarding the line was blocking him. 

“Look Brandon, you know who I am and who sent me, now let me in…do you really want me to call him?” Pitch was saying. 

The officer made a sour expression, and then lifted the tape to let him in. Jack tried to follow him, but was stopped. 

“He’s with me, let him in”. 

The now thoroughly disgruntled man let him pass as well, grumbling about weirdoes under his breath. 

“Is it really alright for me to be here?” Jack asked Pitch, whose expression had become focused.

“Yes, because they called me and I say so”. 

Jack rolled his eyes, but followed. The house was old, the floors creaked and mold grew in the corners. A prone body lay face down on the floor of the living room. Several forensic workers in paper suits were circling. 

“Move” Jules made a shooing gesture at them, as if they were so many flies. He knelt beside the figure. Jack stood beside him, simply watching. Pitch gave him a funny look. 

“This isn’t the first body you’ve seen?” 

“It is” Jack looked at the face down form of a young man. He wore no shirt and faded jeans, the skin of his back was very white and in the center was a short red slit. 

Refocusing on the body, Pitch snapped on a pair of gloves and carefully rolled it over. The face was young and…oddly happy, grey eyes already filming over. The wound exited mid chest.

“Looks about twenty…the weapon was a sword. Whoever used it knew what they were doing…Look at the wound, there’s no ragged edges and it’s almost too clean. The killer stabbed and yanked without hesitation. No blood either and look at these strange marks. He brushed his fingers over circular bruise-like markings around the wound. Carved into the floor where the man had rested were a set of oddly shaped symbols. Pitch stared at them intently for a moment. “These must be why they called me”. 

“Can you tell what they say?” Jack asked him 

Pitch frowned. “No, but they’re fey in origin and I’m guessing their meaning isn’t all that nice…they feel dark”. He pulled a piece of paper and charcoal from his pocket, he lay the paper over the strange writing and rubbed the charcoal over the top. Pulling the sheet away, he held a copy of the symbols. Let’s go, we’re done here” he strode out, throwing the used gloves at one of the paper suit guys. 

“Did you find anything else useful?” Jack asked him as they walked back down the drive. 

Pitch looked thoughtful “Hmmm, yes. I just need a few moments on my phone”. 

“We aren’t collaborating with the police?” 

“No, they’ll just slow us down. They have no clue what really committed the murder”. 

“And you do?” Jack lengthened his stride, dam Pitch and his extra six inches. 

“It was a Fey, I just can’t figure out what kind…the sword was used to cover the fey’s usual methods I think…” He twiddled with his phone for a moment “Ah, here it is. Seems there was an ‘accidental’ stabbing at a renaissance festival in the area last year…and they’re back in town. Time to go find something to wear”. Pitch was grinning. 

Jack groaned “Finding a sword at a ren fair, there are probably hundreds”. 

“Not a problem” Pitch said, unbothered. 

Pitch left Jack outside the costume shop to keep an eye on the bike. Jack was happy to remain away from the hordes of other faire goers looking for garb. He was back a few minutes later with a bag. “We’ll have to rent a hotel for the night, hopefully they’re not completely booked”. 

Jack nodded, resigned to go along for the ride. 

They found a place not too far from the event…It was kind of fancy. Pitch caught Jack looking around the lobby with a somewhat skeptical expression. He smiled smugly. “The gnome incident provided us with ample funds”. 

“I guess” Jack said under his breath. There was a fountain in the entry for crying out loud. 

Pitch leaned against the check in counter “One room, two beds, the size doesn’t really matter”. 

The woman behind the counter took Pitch in, eyes widening slightly “I’m sorry Mr….?” 

“Pitchiner”. 

“I’m sorry Mr. Pitchiner, but almost all of the rooms are filled. We only have a couple of single bed spaces left. The faire usually books up all of the hotels in the area, so you’re unlikely to find something anywhere else either”. 

“I don’t-” Jack started to say, just before Pitch elbowed him in the ribs. 

“We’ll take whichever one has the largest bed” Pitch said, smiling at the woman. 

“There’s one room with a king” she said, practically batting her eyelashes. 

“That will work perfectly”. 

“Would you like an extra key for your, um… 

“Partner, and yes”. 

Her face deflated a little “Oh, yes of course”. 

Jack felt a cool tinge rise to his face. He glared at Pitch who swiftly passed his credit card to the receptionist and pretended not to notice. She passed back his card a moment later along with two room keys. Jack fumed silently as he followed Pitch to the elevator. When the doors clicked shut Jack turned to look at Pitch with a mutinous expression. 

“What?” Pitch said innocently. 

“I’m NOT sharing a bed” he angrily stuffed his hands into his pockets. 

“You heard her. Everything else is full. Besides, it’s a king”. 

“I’m sleeping on the floor”. 

Pitch crossed his arms. “No you’re not. You’re going to sleep in the bed with me. Besides, if you sleep on the floor you’ll hurt your back and then how will you ride the bike?” 

Before Jack could argue further the elevator doors opened, they had arrived somewhere near the top of the building. A group of brightly costumed people squeezed past them into the elevator. 

A short walk down the richly carpeted hall later they reached the door to their room. Pitch swiped the room card. Jack was still in a bad mood and threw his pack down beside Pitch’s inside the lavish space. The walls were a pale green and the huge bed was covered by an extremely soft looking lavender colored comforter. A large window took up almost an entire wall, looking out on the sprawling city below. 

“This will certainly do” Pitch said. He turned to look at Jack, eyes glittering. “Just think of it as a vacation”. 

“A murder vacation”. 

“Ah, what’s vacation without a good murder” Pitch said, tone only slightly sarcastic. 

“You shouldn’t be so excited over someone’s death” Jack tried to tell him sternly. Yet…he couldn’t find it in himself to sound too severe. He was starting to become interested in the case as well. His words came out almost as a knee jerk reaction, something he was supposed to say. Of course, the point of the whole thing was to save lives, protect people from a lurking monster, but…The chase was a thrill and Jack was afflicted with fascination. 

Pitch smiled tauntingly. “Oh? You can try to hide it, but I know you’re enjoying this” he said, voice low. 

Words caught in Jack’s throat. Pitch took a step closer, they stood almost toe to toe. Jack wanted to take a step back, but his stubborn pride rooted him to the spot. He swallowed, blood rose to his face. He looked into those golden eyes and for a moment they held him fast. Pitch leaned in slightly as if he were about to… 

“This is for you”. Pitch pushed a bag of clothes into Jack’s arms and pushed him toward the bathroom. Jack ducked inside and quickly closed the door. It was all white marble inside. He could hear a muffled laugh from the other side. “Bastard” he said quietly. His hands shook slightly as he unknotted the bag. He didn’t understand why…Had he been going to let Pitch kiss him…? Shaking his head, he unfolded the cloth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to those who commented on past chapters, you guys are awesome! I always love to hear the reader's opinions. Chapter four will probably be out sometime tomorrow, it's all finished and just needs editing. I know this story is like slow burner on low, but bear with me and all will turn out well. :D


	4. Sword and Stone

Jack stepped out wearing a grey kilt and a lace up deep blue poet’s shirt. He uncomfortably tugged at the clothes. “Do I really have to wear this?” 

Pitch turned. He wore a floor length lace up jacket over a black shirt like Jack’s and black leather trousers. He stood silently for a moment, giving Jack a slow once over. “Mmmmm. I knew that outfit would suit you”. 

Jack flushed and tried not to squirm under Pitch's gaze. “Uh, how am I supposed to ride the bike in this?” 

“It’ll be fine, I have a couple at home and it’s not that short…worried about somebody catching a peek?” he teased. 

“Don't even start David Bowie, let’s go”. 

Pitch laughed deep in his throat and opened the door. Bowing slightly he held it open for Jack with a graceful gesture. Almost everything Pitch did had a sort of gracefulness to it. Jack couldn’t help but think he looked a little clumsy in comparison. He buttoned his jacket on the way down and was pleased to find it wasn’t raining. Usually he enjoyed the almost constant downpour and the way it turned colors to richer hues, but the bike had somewhat lessened his penchant for wet weather. 

“Just tuck it around your legs” Pitch was saying. 

Jack nodded, refocusing on the other man. 

“You were doing it again, where do you go when you zone out like that?” Pitch asked him curiously. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know” Jack told him. 

Pitch seemed unbothered by the statement “I'll find out eventually”. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“You fascinate me”. 

“I still don’t understand why that is…” 

“You really don’t see yourself very clearly”. 

Jack punched the other man’s arm “Cut it out, unless you don’t plan to breathe on the way there” he said making a squeezing gesture. 

“I find your threats of moderate violence to be charming” Pitch said before slipping a helmet over his head. 

“You’re unbelievable” Jack informed him. 

“And you’re adorable, let’s go”. 

Jack sighed. He swung onto the bike and tucked the kilt beneath his legs and was surprised to find that Pitch had been right. They slowly wove through the busy parking lot and peeled out onto the highway. Pitch’s new Jacket was thinner than the one he usually wore and Jack could feel defined muscle through the material. He was a little pleased to find that his hands no longer shook and tempted to give Pitch a good jab in the stomach, but thought better of it. If the bike crashed, they would both end up in bloody piles on the side of the road. The closer they got the more costumed people there were. They clogged the street and slowed down traffic. Eventually they found a place to park. An hour later they had finally made it to the front of the ticket line. 

“Two please” Pitch said to the women selling tickets. 

“I can buy my own” Jack told him. 

“Shush” Pitch said over his shoulder. “Two” he said again. 

As they walked away Jack gave the other man a dirty look. 

“Calm down, you’re here helping me…and now it’s kind of like a date, I drove and bought the tickets”. 

Jack gave an exaggerated eye roll “You’re incorrigible”. 

“Thank you…Now, I need to see all of the knight’s swords”. 

Jack coughed. “That…sounded just a little pervy”. 

“Did it? Well, you said it not me” Pitch replied without cracking a grin. 

“You’re going to get slapped one of these days”. 

“Others have tried and failed”. 

Jack shook his head and silently admired the bright booths and tents, the wide array of garb and the performers. A Fire eater shot a burst of flame ten feet in the air. He felt more comfortable here than in the city. Like the inside of a book, fiction unfolded before his very eyes. From up ahead came the clash of metal on metal. 

“Stay close to me” all of the teasing had left Pitch’s voice. 

A fenced off square came into view, inside two armor clad figures crossed swords. The clash of metal coming in quick succession. On the opposite side of the fence was a connecting tent, other ‘knights’ could be seen through the opening. 

“That’s where we need to go” Pitch said. They wove through the crowd to the red canvas tent. Pitch lifted a corner and ducked underneath. Jack looked from side to side for a moment before Pitch grabbed a fistful of his jacket and yanked him along. The inside was packed with a motley crew, many in the midst of donning layers of chain mail and leather. Pitch slipped a notebook and pen from his pocket. “Here, pretend to take notes”. He approached one of the waiting knights. “We’re here from Ren Times magazine to write an article on swords, may we look at yours?” Pitch’s voice had gone smooth, no trace of the slight accent that usually colored his words. 

The man seemed surprised “Sure” he offered Pitch the sword, pommel first. 

“It’s barely sharp” Pitch said. 

“Well, yeah, we don’t actually want to injure one another. We’re all experienced swordsmen, but it’s still a show for the fair goers”. 

Rather than fake it, Jack took short notes. He could already tell they this wasn’t the person they were looking for.

“Thank you, we’re just going to wander around a bit” Pitch said, handing the weapon back. 

“Not the one?” Jack whispered. 

“No…the sword used to kill that boy has to be extremely sharp”. Pitch said under his breath. 

Half an hour later they had talked with a dozen different knights, Pitch had passed every sword back with a disappointed expression. “The one we’re looking for doesn’t seem to be here”. 

“What about…that one?” Jack said pointing out into the arena. A slim knight in black armor was swinging a sword with such ferocity that the knight opposite was barely blocking the volley of blows. 

Pitch studied the violent interaction. “That…might just be the one”. He turned to one of the men watching “Who’s that knight, the one winning?” Pitch asked him. 

“That would be Cimmerian, otherwise known as the Black Knight”. 

The Black Knight dealt a final blow, sending the other knight to his knees. Cimmerian lifted his sword in triumph and pulled off his helmet. 

Jack gasped. It was a beautiful woman with long black hair and extremely pale skin. 

“She’s been the undisputed victor all week” the spectator said.

“Really?” Pitch looked at Jack out of the corner of his eye. 

“If she had her way I think she’d beat them all to a pulp just to prove she could” the stranger continued. 

From somewhere came the ring of a gong. Both knights walked back to the tent. 

“Seems they’ve called a break, since no one can beat her” the man sighed and walked off.

Just as the two knights entered the tent Pitch shoved Jack in front of the Cimmerian. They tripped over one another, falling to the ground. 

“What the hell is wrong with you?” she snapped at Jack. 

Before he could reply, Pitch was pulling him up and saying “Sorry about my clumsy friend, here, you dropped this” he held her sword out. 

Cimmerian snatched it from Pitch’s hands and stood. Her eyes were the red-brown of old dried blood. “Don’t touch my sword” she hissed. She stalked past them and through the opposite end of the tent. 

“It seems we have a murderess” Pitch said, watching her intently. 

“Why’d you go and shove me like that?!” Jack protested. 

“I had to hold the sword and I don’t think she would have let me do it willingly”. 

“Since you decided to use me it better have been the right one”. 

Pitch smiled thinly and held up his palm. A narrow red line ran its length. “She’s the one…Now we just need some proof”. 

Jack followed Pitch back outside. Some weak sunlight was making an appearance. He noticed that Pitch was leaving a trail of red droplets. “Pitch, hey, you’re bleeding”. 

Pitch glanced at his hand again. “I guess it’s a little deeper than I thought, I barely touched the blade” he tucked the bleeding appendage into his pocket. 

“Don’t do that! That’s a good way to get an infection, do you want your hand to fall off?!” 

“Not important right now. Besides, I heal a bit faster than your average person. We can’t lose sight of her”. 

“Don’t be an idiot! The tournament isn’t over and you saw how much she was enjoying the fight…she’ll be back”. 

Pitch stopped “Why Jack, are you actually concerned for me?” the sarcastic smile was back, But Pitch’s voice lacked some of its usual bravado. 

“You’ll be concerned when I turn you into an ice cube. C’mon, let’s go find a sink”. 

Pitch grinned as if he thought it was funny that Jack was telling him what to do.

Eventually they found a spigot. Jack turned it so a trickle of cold water streamed out. Pitch pulled his hand out to reveal the bloody palm. The water turned pink as it mixed with blood and sank into the ground. When the cut was clean, Jack pulled a handkerchief out of a pocket in his kilt and wrapped it around Pitch’s injured hand. 

“You actually have a handkerchief?” Pitch said, expression amused. 

“They can be pretty useful and a simple thank you would have sufficed”. 

“To thee I shall be ever grateful” Pitch said with a elegant bow. 

“Overkill” Jack told him. 

Pitch simply laughed. 

“…Do you think she’s like us?” 

“Fey? Yes, she’s wearing a glamor and there’s one on her sword to hide its actual sharpness. She probably uses this guise as a lady knight to lure victims. It’s almost perfect, fans come for a sneak visit after hours and” Pitch made a stabbing motion. “We still can’t leave until we find some evidence that she committed the murder”. 

Jack nodded “Just don’t be so reckless. We don’t want to become the evidence…Wait…how is it that she can’t tell what we are as well?” 

“Because my glamour is far superior to hers and you…whoever left you in the human world cast a glamour strong enough to hide your true form from humans and less powerful fey alike. I do believe that it’s beginning to wear off, perhaps from time or that fact that you’re becoming more aware of it. It really depends on the conditions the caster made when creating it”. 

“What will happen when it’s gone?” Jack asked, slightly panicked. 

“You will become invisible to the human eye and…there might be a few physical changes as well”. 

“Whaaa…what am I supposed to do?! I-” 

Pitch looked a little startled, feeling Jack’s spike of fear. “Calm down, I can teach you to make your own”. 

“Are you even sure I’ll be able to?” 

“Yes, we’re all born with the ability”. 

Jack let out a breath “Physical changes…are you saying…you don’t really look…how you look?” He stared at Pitch. 

Pitch grinned. “Curious? Maybe I’ll show you later”. 

Jack didn’t reply because he’d just spotted the lady knight. She was seated at a picnic table with a handful of fans.

“Let’s go search her tent while she’s busy” Pitch said. 

Jack followed him, unsatisfied with how the original conversation topic had ended. He’d find a way to ask more questions later. They made for the smaller group of tents that seemed to be fair quarters. 

“How do you expect to get in? It’s not as if they’ll let us waltz around, even if you do tell them we’re writing some sort of article”. 

Pitch was undeterred. “I’ll think of something, people are easy to manipulate”. 

Jack frowned at him “That’s not very nice”. 

“It’s a simple truth”. 

“Is that what you do with me? Use manipulation to get what you want?” Jack could feel his mood darkening. 

“No…more of a friendly persuasion and besides…you aren’t other people”. 

“Huh”. 

“Oh come on, you’re not enjoying this even a little? We’ve almost got her” 

“If this is your idea of fun there might be something wrong with your brain”. 

“My brain is a thing of beauty…I bet yours is made of paper and ink”. 

Jack imagined folds and layers of paper covered with thousands of tiny words. “Hmmm, interesting mental picture”.

Pitch snorted “I wouldn’t be terribly surprised if it were true with the amount of literature you’ve gone through”. 

For a moment it seemed as if they might walk right into the camp, but a women wearing a corseted gown stopped them.

“You guys aren’t supposed to be over here, the fair is that way” she said, pointing over their shoulder. 

“Awww, I heard that there were special tours of the Knight’s tents.” Pitch said and proceeded to smolder at the girl. 

“Oh, w-ell…there wasn’t anything scheduled” she stuttered, blushing. 

Jack rolled his eyes. 

“Really? Maybe you could give us a special tour” Pitch said, smiling enticingly. 

Jack thought the look on Pitch’s face too fake to fool the girl, but she was eating it up. 

“Follow me” she turned with a beckoning gesture. 

Jack snorted and was rewarded with an elbow jab. 

“Behave!” Pitch hissed. 

“Did you of all people really just tell me to behave?” Jack hissed back at him. 

“Shhhh, come on” Pitch said, avoiding the question. 

The girl led them through the rows of variously colored tents and a couple of trailers. Pointing to each in turn and naming of the absent occupant. Jack refocused when he heard her say “And this is Lady Cimmerian’s”. 

“I’m actually a bit of a fan, would it be alright if we took a really quick peek inside, I’d just love to see some of her other weaponry, please?” 

The girl, who now seemed to be enthralled by Pitch, nodded silently. 

“We’ll be just a sec…would you mind waiting here, you know, just in case someone comes by?” 

“Uh-huh” she said, blushing profusely. 

“Thanks, dear”. 

Jack and Pitch slipped inside. 

“Wow, she’ll be a puddle by the time we leave” Jack said sarcastically. 

“There has yet to be a maiden who hasn’t fallen for my charms”. 

“I’m surprised she didn’t see right through your little act”. 

“You’d be surprised at how far a little flirtation can get you, everyone wants to be paid attention too and are thusly open to such attacks”. 

“An attack of cheesiness maybe. If your true personality came out you’d probably get hit”. 

“It’s only an ends to a means”. 

“…I’m glad you don’t fake it around me”. 

Pitch stopped “Was there a compliment in there somewhere?” 

“Even if you have a somewhat brutal personality, I’d rather see that than a fake one”. 

“I’ve never felt the need to be someone other than who I am around you. Besides, I have a feeling it wouldn’t have fooled you anyways…Now, let’s find our evidence”. 

Jack felt a little pleased by Pitch’s admittance. “Um…what exactly are we looking for?” 

“Anything that might have trace evidence on it. Weapons, tools, clothes…If the woman has any brains she’ll have already discarded anything that came in contact with her victim… but death always leaves traces”. 

“Like this?” Jack asked, pointing to a rough brick. 

“…What is it?” Pitch asked. 

Jack smirked “Does it hurt not to know something?” 

Pitch raised an eyebrow “I just can’t quite remember”. 

“If you say so. It’s a whetstone, you know, to sharpen swords and knives”. 

“That’s right…If she used that sword to kill…It would have to be sharpened afterword. Even if she cleaned it, that stone could have absorbed something. This is it” Pitch said. He pulled out his phone and typed madly for a moment. 

“Who’re you texting?” 

“The police, they’ll be here in about ten minutes”. 

The fair girl chose that moment to stick her head inside and say “Hey! Are you two coming out, she’ll be back soon”. 

“Sorry, coming!” Pitch said, tossing a grin over his shoulder for Jack. 

“Did you enjoy your look around?” the girl wanted to know. 

“It was…Illuminating” Pitch said, smiling at her. She watched them go with a sad expression as if she’d hoped for a phone number. 

In the distance sirens could just be heard. In a couple of minutes they had looped around the camp and arrived back at Cimmerian’s tent. They were just in time to meet the two officers jogging toward them. 

The girl was still there “Do you know what they’re doing here?” she asked Pitch.

“I called them. This tent in now part of a murder investigation”.

“So, what’s this all about? You found something pertaining to the sword homicide?” one of the officers asked. 

“Evidence. Inside that tent you’ll find a whetstone. It was probably used to sharpen the murder weapon. Considering that traces of metal remain on the stone, there’s a strong chance of blood being present as well. The owner of both stone and sword, is the Black Knight otherwise known as Lady Cimmerian. I believe she’ll be arriving shortly” Pitch said. “Your chief should know who I am, just tell him it was Pitchiner”.

One of the officers began talking into his radio and the other entered the tent holding an evidence bag. 

Out of the side of his mouth Jack said; “What are you, a man in black?” 

Pitch laughed “Maybe”. 

“Pitchiner, Yes. I see…he’s that investigator. Alright, got it” the officer released the button after a static filled conversation. “We appreciate the assistance Mr. Pitchiner, but we can handle it from here. 

“I thought you might say that, but I’d like to remain until the evidence is bagged and the culprit handcuffed. 

The police officer scratched his head “Fine, just stay off to the side”. 

Pitch looked about to make a smart remark when none other than lady Cimmerian appeared, sprinting toward them. Despite wearing armor and wielding a sword, she was moving fast. “And here comes our murderess now” he told the officer. 

The policeman spun, pulling his gun. “YOU! Stop! Drop that sword or I’ll shoot”. 

Suddenly, from behind, Jack felt something sharp poke him in the back.

“Don’t move, or you’ll find my knife in your gut” it was the voice of the girl. Jack had completely forgotten about her, surprise and fear froze him in place. 

Pitch spun, eyes wide and took a step toward them. 

“Don’t even think about it pretty boy, do you want to kill your friend?” 

Pitch’s hand fell to his sides, balled into fists and a look of rage twisted his features. 

The officer, hearing the exchange, swung to face the new threat. Almost as if in slow motion, Cimmerian raised her sword and threw it like a javelin at the policeman. It skewered the man, plunging straight through his chest. With a horrible gurgle, he fell. Pitch started toward the man, a soft cry falling from his lips. 

“Don’t move!” The girl snarled out. 

Pitch’s fists shook. The officer coughed up a spray of blood and took a rattling breath. Jack waited an eternal second for another to come, but it didn’t. The light faded from the man’s eyes. 

This all happened so quickly that it was almost too shocking to comprehend. Just as Cimmerian reached them, the other officer emerged from the tent, mouth open, about to speak and holding the bag containing the whetstone. A look of absolute horror dawned on his face as he summed up the situation in a glance. He drew his gun and shot the murdering knight. 

Cimmerian fell to the ground. Jack felt a sharp pain in his back. He fell to his knees as the knife slipped from his body. He could heard Pitch calling his name over and over, but he could only see the clouded sky. Consciousness began to fade as Pitch’s face appeared over his own. 

“P-itch-” 

“Hush, don’t try to talk, it’s going to be alright”. Pitch tore off his jacket. He turned Jack onto his side and pressed it to the wound. 

It was like a thousand icy hot needles and hurt worse than anything he’d ever felt before. He let out a soft moan of agony. If it weren’t so painful to draw breath, he might have screamed. 

“Jack, I’m so sorry. There’s an ambulance coming”. 

“D-did they g-get her?” 

“The other officer is in pursuit right now”. 

“G-Good…I’m s-so c-cold…I…I’m actually cold”. 

Keeping one hand pressed to the wound, Pitch bent over Jack’s body and wrapped his free arm around him, pressing close. 

Jack, who couldn’t stand to be touched, closed his eyes and felt the heat sink into his skin like rays of sunlight. Somehow, with his life in danger of leaking out, he found that he didn’t mind Pitch’s touch. As consciousness faded he wondered why....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo! Two chapters in two days! It's wonderful to actually have some writing time. Thank you so much for the lovely comments and kudos so far! As some of you have noticed this story wasn't originally about Jack and Pitch. Frostbitten is based off of one of my original stories. I noticed a lot of similarities between the leads and thought it make a good alternate reality fan fic, so I apologize if the wrong names crop up occasionally. Feel free to tell me if you spot 'em and I'll fix it.   
> -Winterberry


	5. Phantasm

A soft monotonous beeping echoed inside Jack’s dreams of dripping blood and soulless eyes. Slowly, he became aware of the pillow behind his head and the texture of rough sheets against his bare skin. His eyes flickered open, for a moment the light was too bright and white spots bloomed in front of his vision. He reached up to rub the sleep away causing a dull spike of pain to shoot up his back. Slowly he ran a hand across the bandages wrapping his torso. Suddenly there were warm fingers pushing his hair back. 

“Jack?!” It was Pitch’s voice. 

“Where…am I?” Jack’s voice came out as a raspy whisper.

Pitch let out a breath that spoke of fearful tension. “We’re in a hospital not too far from the fair”. 

With that statement it all came flooding back. A shudder ran through Jack’s body and he felt a horrible wave of nausea. Leaning over the side of the bed he gagged, but his stomach was empty. A stitch of pain shot up his back with each spasm. The dizziness intensified and he began to lurch sideways over the bed. 

Pitch hissed in sympathy. “Careful” he caught Jack and pushed him back up. 

Jack blinked again and Pitch swam into focus. 

There was a folding chair beside the bed from which Pitch had risen. He left one hand on Jack’s arm “Jack…I’m so sorry”. 

Automatically Jack pulled back slightly. Pitch removed his hand, a slightly hurt expression on his face. Jack felt a small twinge of guilt, he hadn’t really meant to do it. Turning his face away he said; “why are you sorry?” 

Pitch sat back down, mouth down turned. “For failing to protect you”. 

Jack sighed and turned back to stare at the ceiling. The light still seemed overly bright and he slid a hand over his eyes. “Wasn’t it the other way around…I should have used my ability to save myself, but I froze up…If that girl hadn’t used me as a hostage you might have been able to do your job and that cop would still be alive. The way he died was so…so horrible. I don’t think I’ll ever forget his face”. 

Pitch stood angrily, his chair scraped backward with a squeak. “NO! Don’t you dare think that!...How am I ever going to make you understand? I convinced you to follow me, I told you to trust me and you were my responsibility. What happened, what you saw, I can never take it back or fix it...” Pitch ran hand violently through his hair. 

Jack’s eyes were wide, he hadn’t expected Pitch to have such a vehement outburst and it took him a moment to gather a response. “…Whatever you say, it was my choice to come. I never had any illusions about what might happen.” 

Pitch wore a pained expression. “…I’ve already lost someone due to my own foolishness…if you had died…” 

“Pitch…I didn’t die, I’m alright” Jack lifted his hand as if to reach out and then let it drop. He wondered who Pitch had lost, but the agony of it was so plain in Pitch’s eyes that Jack couldn’t bear to ask. 

Pitch pulled the chair back to Jack’s bedside. He still wore the poet’s shirt, darker spots on the black marked where Jack’s blood stained the material. “The fact that you came close is enough” Pitch said softly. 

Jack sighed “…I’m sorry I frightened you…Did they catch the girl?”

Pitch smiled crookedly. “They caught her and she confessed. The police offered her a deal if she spilled on Cimmerian. I believe she was originally attracted to the fairs by the mock violence of sword play…and then she met Cimmerian. I don’t know exactly how the partnership began, but it seems that she brought fair goers back to Cimmerian’s tent and watched as the ‘Lady Knight” had her deadly way with them…Even if the girl is a psychopath, she’s still human. That officer managed to shot Cimmerian, but she escaped. It’s likely that she’s now in the fey realm…and it’s very unlikely we’ll be able to catch her. I don’t know exactly what type of fey she is, but if she needs to feed on humans she may come back eventually”. 

Jack shuddered “That’s just…sick. At least one of them is behind bars. Uh…do you think we were being scoped out as the next targets? That girl was a little too enthusiastic about showing us around”. 

Pitch nodded slowly, eyes faraway. “You’re probably right…” 

“…I have another theory”. 

“Oh?” 

“I think she had a little crush on you. The girl ogled you nonstop the entire tour…and she even called you pretty”. 

Pitch cracked a grin “Did you just make a joke, an actual joke? It was kind of a bad, twisted joke, but still. Maybe I should rough you up every now in then to see if a sense of humor emerges.” 

Jack laughed and then coughed as he clutched his side with a grimace. “Owww”. 

Pitch leaned forward, face concerned. 

“I’m fine” Jack assured him. “Pitch…we can’t just let that fey woman get away, she could kill a lot more innocent people on top of the who-knows-how-many she already has”. 

“My priority right now is to take care of you…We scared her off, she’s going to hide until she feels safe again. The time to strike will be then, when she thinks there’s no one after her”. 

Jack swallowed dryly, his throat felt raw. “Just don’t leave me behind when you decide to go after her”. 

Pitch blinked “We don’t need to worry about that right now”. 

Jack raised his head “No, promise me you won’t go alone”. 

Pitch studied him for a moment. Seeing Jack’s resolve, he let out a sigh. “…Alright”. 

“Good…how long have we been here anyways?” Jack asked, relaxing back onto the scratchy hospital pillows. 

“About five hours”. 

“How-” Jack stopped mid sentence, staring at the doorway, mouth slightly open. 

Pitch followed his gaze. 

A women who looked to be somewhere in her fifties stood in the doorway. She had ear length hair the color of wheat and a narrow face. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” Jack asked her, his voice acidic. 

“The hospital called me, they said you were hurt” she took a couple steps inside and seemed to notice Pitch. “Who’s this?” 

There was a long pause, then; “He’s my friend”. 

Pitch stood “Kozmotis Pitchiner…and you are?” 

“I’m Jack’s mother” 

“No, you’re not…Why are you here?” Jack said again, voice deadly quiet. 

“I was worried, they said-”

“I’m fine” Jack said, eyes narrow, voice bitter. 

“Jack-” 

Jack interrupted her again. “Is he here?” 

She looked down at her feet for a moment “He’s in the waiting room”. 

“Get out.” 

Pitch looked from one to the other. 

“Jack, can’t we stop this…there’s no need to fight” his mother said pleadingly. 

“You already know my answer. You made your decision a long time ago”. 

“But-” 

“Get out!” 

She turned around and began walking away, a pained expression on her face.   
Pausing, she glanced back at Pitch “At least he has someone, look out for him” and then she was gone. 

“Jack, was that really OK?” 

“I don’t want to talk about it…I must have forgotten to change my emergency contact information”. 

There was a moment of silence. “If you change your mind…” 

“…I will say this…It was her weak choices that brought about the hell my childhood was. I can’t help but despise her for it, especially when she’s still making the same stupid decisions”. 

Pitch’s face grew sad “A parent should always protect their child and never make them doubt their worth…I’m sorry you had such an upbringing”. 

Jack smiled a humorless smile “There you go again, apologizing for something that is in no way your fault…It’s not your job to defend me”. 

“I never considered it to be a job…protecting someone you care for is a privilege”. 

“Has any one ever told you how weird you are?” Jack asked, one brow raised. 

“Plenty of times. I don’t think it’s a bad thing. Besides, you’re in the same boat”. 

“I know”. 

They both laughed at that. Jack realized that he’d laughed with Pitch in the last week more than he had in years. 

A grey haired doctor chose that moment to stride through the door way “Ah, good to see you’re feeling better” he said. 

Pitch stopped smiling “He still looks kind of pale”. 

“I’m always pale” Jack informed them both. 

Pitch rolled his eyes. “Paler than usual”. 

Jack ignored Pitch. “Will I have to be in here much longer?” 

The doctor looked down at the chart he carried. “You were very lucky. No major organs were hit and Mr. Pitchiner here saved you from any extreme blood loss. All that’s really left is time and rest. If you feel up to it, you can leave tonight. New bandages should be applied daily for a couple of weeks. You may need someone to help change them and clean the wound, considering its placement. I’m going to prescribe you some pain medication as well. You’ll also need to have the stitches removed in a couple of weeks”. Speaking to Pitch this time he said; “he may get a fever due to a lowered immune system, so keep an eye on him”. 

Pitch nodded “I will”. 

The doctor removed the IV snaking from Jack’s arm before leaving, shutting the door quietly. Jack pushed the sheets off, wincing as he sat up. Looking down at his bare torso he could see the white swath of bandages. He was secretly glad that the wound itself wasn’t visible. 

“I got you a new shirt, the other one was destroyed” Pitch said, handing him a plain black t-shirt. 

“You could use one too” Jack told him, taking in the bloodied poet’s shirt again. 

“This is the only spare I had with the bike and you need it more than I do”. 

Jack accepted it. “Uh thanks…Hey, how is it that doctor didn’t notice my, um, irregularities?” 

Pitch’s eyes took on glint “I may have glamoured the doctors into not noticing along with convincing them that I’m your relative”. 

“You can do that?” 

“Yes, so can you”. 

Jack slowly pulled the shirt over his head, trying to make small movements. He couldn’t help but inhale the faint pine and rain scent that had to be Pitch’s. His wound throbbed faintly with each heartbeat. Carefully, he swung his legs off the side of the bed and found that his boots sat neatly beside it. 

Pitch was watching him, a crease between his brows. “Need some help?” he asked. 

“I can manage” Jack bent. A shock went up his back and he sucked in a pained breath. 

“Stop. You’re going to let me do it. There’s no reason for you to hurt yourself further”. 

“…Fine” Jack mumbled. He watched Pitch slip the boots onto his feet and lace them. Jack noticed that he avoided touching anything beside the shoe. A somewhat melancholy feeling rose. Jack wondered if he’d upset Pitch when he’d flinched earlier. 

Pitch glanced up to see Jack’s expression “Does it hurt?” 

“No…I’m fine” Jack straightened his features, when had he started wearing his feelings like that? He stood slowly, his vision swimming slightly. Pitch stood a couple feet in front of him, watching cautiously. Slowly, Jack took a couple of steps and began to lean to one side. 

“Are you sure you’re alright to leave?” Pitch said as he caught Jack’s arm. 

“I don’t want to stay here…hospitals make me uncomfortable” he said, resisting the urge to shrug Pitch off. 

Pitch sighed, his expression said he’d like to stick Jack back in the bed. “Let’s go then. We can stay at the hotel tonight”. 

Jack couldn’t think of a reason to argue, at least they were leaving. Pitch pulled Jack’s arm around his shoulders and wrapped the other one around Jack’s waist, supporting part of his weight. 

“Is this OK?” Pitch said, glancing down at him.

Jack resisted the shudder that ran through his body because of the close contact. “It’s fine”. 

They stopped to pick up Jack’s meds and spare bandages on the way out. Pitch had followed the ambulance on his bike. It was parked a little haphazardly near the hospital entrance as if Pitch had dashed away as soon as he’d pulled the keys from the ignition. 

“This may be a bit difficult” Pitch said. 

Jack rested a hand on bike for a moment, trying to regain his strength. 

“Can you get on?” Pitch asked him, holding the vehicle steady. 

With a soft moan Jack sat on the back of the bike and swung his leg over. He swayed, fingers digging into the leather beneath him. He felt a hand on his shoulder, steadying him. 

Pitch slid smoothly onto the front seat. “Hold onto me”. 

Jack’s vision had begun to swim. He wrapped his arms around Pitch and leaned against the other man, his forehead resting in the middle of Pitch’s back. The fabric there smelled like rain, dirt and blood. The throbbing ache in his back distracted him from other thoughts as they drove away.

Pitch supported Jack again as they made their way inside. “He’s really drunk” Pitch told the receptionist when she gave them a funny look. Jack went a little cross eyed just for her benefit.

The elevator was gloriously empty. It was paneled in a shiny metal and reflected their image. Jack didn’t know where to look. It was strange to see someone standing beside him, feel someone beside him. Having felt alone his entire childhood and been alone his entire adult life Jack didn’t really know how a relationship of any sort should work. Pitch caught him watching their reflection and smiled, causing Jack to look away. 

When the door of their hotel room clicked shut Jack said; “I’m going to take a shower, after all that…I just need a shower”. 

“Are you sure that’s a good idea right now?” Pitch asked skeptically as jack ducked out from under his arm.

“I’ll be careful”. 

“Hmmm. Call me if you need help. We don’t need to go back to the hospital because of your stubbornness”. 

Jack shut the door behind him, his bag was still on the counter. The bathroom was spacious and a glass walled shower took up half the room. He undressed and turned the water on lukewarm. Cold wouldn’t help remove dried blood. Slowly he unwound the bandages. Turning around, Jack looked over his shoulder, seeing the wound for the first time. It was to one side of his lower back, ran vertically and was a couple inches long. Moving closer he counted five stitches. Traces of dried blood could still be seen here and there. He wondered if there would be an interesting scar. 

The water streamed over his bare skin, it felt wonderful. Leaning against the shower wall, Jack watched the blood and dirt tinted water swirl down the drain. His hair was full of snarls, the worst of which he combed out with his fingers. It took generous amount of shampoo and conditioner to get it clean and smooth. The soap stung as it hit his back, causing the throbbing to increase. For the next fifteen minutes he let the water run down his body, enjoying the cleansing sensation. Turning the water off, he grabbed one of the fluffy white towels and dried off, careful not to bend far enough to cause pain. The dizziness was starting to return, taking a deep breath he managed to put on a pair of dark green pajama pants. He attempted to wrap fresh bandages around his waist, but they kept slipping and the edges of his vision had begun to darken. He draped a smaller towel over his head and carried the roll of bandages out with him, one hand on the wall for support. 

Pitch was looking out the window. He still wore the leather pants but he’d shed the ruined shirt. The dull light of the bedroom cast shadows on the lean muscle and bone of his back. Silvery scars marked his skin in places, battle scars from years past. Jack stood silently for a moment, looking and finding what he saw to be kind of beautiful. He took a step, sliding his hand across the wall. Pitch turned at the sound.

“Feel better?” 

Jack let out a breath. “Yeah, just kind of dizzy”. 

Pitch’s eyes raked over Jack’s bare chest to the Bandages in his hand. “Need some help with those?” 

“…Yeah”. 

Pitch slid onto the bed and patted the spot in front of him. Jack gingerly sat on the edge of the bed, shoulders scrunched. Pitch held one end of the roll against Jack’s side and began wrapping. Jack watched Pitch’s hands working deftly, they hovered around his waist in a mock embrace. “Done…sit still for a minute” 

Jack sat silently, too tired to do anything else. Pitch grabbed the towel off Jack’s head. 

“Hey-” Jack started. 

“Shhh”. Pitch gently began to rub Jack’s head. 

Jack stilled and found that he didn’t mind Pitch’s administrations. His hands didn’t shake, he wasn’t sure if it was the lack of skin on skin contact or the fact that Pitch was the one touching him. He decided not to over think it. Closing his eyes, he let out a soft sigh. 

“Feel nice?” 

“Mmm”. 

Pitch chuckled softly. “I guess that was a yes”

Jack started tilting to one side. 

“Why don’t you go to sleep, I’m going to get a quick shower too”. 

“Oh…yeah”. Jack slid back on the bed until his head rested on the pillow and closed his eyes. It was cool in the room. He wondered if Pitch had set the thermostat with him in mind. His mind began to drift and a nightmarish dream took hold. It was raining as he walked down a street full of people, he looked down at his hands to find them dripping with blood. He looked up, the sky was a deep red and blood poured down. The people had stopped moving, their eyes lifeless and glassy, all of them turned toward him. Jack tried to scream, but found that he couldn’t utter a sound. Slowly, he slumped to the ground, covering his head with his arms. Even with a lack of sight, Jack could still feel the stares on his back, feel the sticky warm drops touch his skin. His body felt too warm, the blood rain burned as it touched his skin. With a gasp, Jack woke up. For a moment he couldn’t remember where he was, his mind a fuzzy jumble. Slowly, Pitch’s face came into focus. 

The pupils of Pitch’s eyes were almost slits and his breath came in short gasps. “Jack, you were having a nightmare”. He pressed a slightly trembling hand to Jack’s forehead. “You’re actually a little warm…I think you have a fever”. Pitch’s voice was tight, restrained. 

Jack heard Pitch, but it was like his brain was slogging through mud and the meaning of the words took a moment to click. 

“I was dreaming…lots of blood” 

“I know…It was really strong”. Pitch pressed his lips together. “I’m going to get some of the meds the hospital sent home with us”. 

Jack could hear Pitch rummaging around on the other side of the room. His body ached and he could hear the harshness of his own breath. He called the ice from within, but it only chilled the air around him leaving his body too warm. The frost didn’t seem to want to pass through his fingertips. 

“Jack? Can you sit up?” Pitch was back with a couple of pills and a glass of water. 

Jack tried to push himself onto his elbow, but his limbs lacked the strength and he fell back against the pillows with a huff, too groggy to move. “Just leave me be, I’ll be better in the morning” he mumbled. 

“Oh no you don’t, you have a fever. You shouldn’t be warm like this”. Pitch slid an arm under Jack’s back and lifted him. 

“Don-” 

“Shut up” Pitch said, somehow making it sound like an endearment. 

Jack was too worn to make an argument and swallowed the pills Pitch pressed into his hand. The slide of skin on skin was almost strange, foreign. 

Pitch pulled away “Be right back”. 

Jack opened his eyes as Pitch pressed a cold cloth to his forehead. “Thanks…that feels nice”. 

“My pleasure”. 

Jack began to fade again and distantly felt Pitch’s weight sink beside him. 

“I’m right here if you need anything” Pitch whispered. 

But Jack was already asleep and heard the words as if from a distance. 

He woke several hours later, violent shivers wracking his body. He felt hot and achy, bloody memories surfaced one after another. The towel fell to the floor with a plop as he curled into a ball. A hand touched his side, causing a small gasp of surprise to escape his lips. He’d almost forgotten Pitch’s presence. 

“It’s only me, what’s wrong?” 

“I’m just a little sore, you can go back to sleep” Jack said into his pillow. He felt the bed shift and a light clicked on. Pitch trudged to the small freezer in the corner and filled a bag with ice.

“I already told you, I’m going to take care of you”. Pitch carefully placed the bag against Jack.

Jack didn’t reply. He simply sighed as the cold seeped through his skin. Pitch rolled back onto the bed and shut out the light. Ten minutes passed and Jack started to doze. He jerked awake with a gasp. Dead eyes seemed to poison his every dream. Vivid as the moment the sword had plunged though…Jack scrubbed a hand across his face. His back twinged. It was too painful to roll over and his chest felt tight. That horrible suffocating, claustrophobic feeling was growing and Jack wanted to jump through the window. An arm slid across his chest. 

“Don’t!” Jack tried to jerk away, causing a shock to shoot up his back, and air to hiss between his teeth. 

“Would you stop being so dam stubborn. I’m not going to lay here while you have your own personal meltdown”. 

“But-”

In a low voice Pitch said; “Jack, I’m not going to hurt you. Sometimes a little skin on skin is the best way to sooth fears and nightmares. So have a little faith and shut it”. 

Jack didn’t say anything, a little surprised by the outburst. Gently, Pitch pulled him closer. Jack lay stiffly, his fingers clenching and unclenching

“Relax” Pitch said, his breath tickling Jack’s cheek.

Slowly, Jack untensed. His breathing eased, but he could still feel his heart beating just a little too quickly. 

“Is that because of me?” Pitch asked in a soft voice, spreading his fingers over the place Jack’s heart rested.

“It’s the fever” Jack said, which was only half true. 

“I don’t think you’re being honest with yourself…why don’t we put it to the test?” 

Jack turned his face away. “Don’t be so egotistical, not everyone is enamored with you”. 

“You’re starting to sound more like yourself…but you know what, your actions are always contradicting your words…like this”. In the dark, Pitch pressed a light kiss to Jack’s collar bone. 

A small noise of surprise escaped Jack’s lips, his pulse picked up speed, and he could feel his heart hammering like bird trying to escape its cage. A flash of panic lanced through him. There was no doubt that Pitch had felt the whole thing. 

“Ah, your very heart beat betrays you” the quiet words slid silkily from Pitch’s mouth, like a poem. 

“What is it that you want?” Jack said, an almost imperceptible quiver to his voice. 

“…For you to let me in” Pitch said softly. 

“You’re practically on top of me” Jack huffed. 

“You know…despite your intelligence, you can be really daft sometimes. You don’t have to be alone anymore…Just let me in, even if only a little bit”. 

Jack shook his head “…I don’t know how to be close to people…I’m not good at relationships”. 

“I’m not people, I’m Pitch. I won’t give up on you or hate you because of what you are. Do you really want to live inside the walls you’ve built around yourself when there’s an entire world out there? In the last day I’ve seen you step beyond them, what would you lose by tearing them down entirely?” 

He squeezed his eyes shut. “My sanity...” Jack sucked in a shaky breath. “…I don’t think I’d be able to live alone…with any semblance of happiness”. 

“Jack, are you happy now? Just give up, let it all go. I won’t disappoint”. 

Jack turned, catching the glint of golden eyes in the near darkness. It was hard to think with Pitch pressed to his side. Even with the fever, his skin felt warmer where they came in contact with one another

“I…I can’t say yes when I don’t even know what I’m saying yes to”. 

“Then stop saying no, stop pushing me away every time I come near… or don’t say anything and I’ll assume you still want me beside you”. The silence stretched and Pitch wrapped his arm the rest of the way around Jack “Alright, I hear you loud and clear”. 

The feverish ache was finally fading and in its place was a different kind of warmth. He found himself matching his breathing to Pitch’s as his silence sealed something between them and sleep reclaimed his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, the hard drive on my lap top went out last week. After a mild panic attack I enlisted the help of a tech savvy friend, retrieved my files and replaced the hard drive. Everything is up and running again, thank god! I hope you enjoyed this fluffy chapter, despite it being a little late. :D   
> ~Winterberry


	6. Immeasurable Moment

The patter of rain on glass pulled Jack’s conscious to the surface. He slowly became aware of his limbs and slid an outstretched arm across cool, empty sheets. 

“Right here” Pitch’s voice said. 

Jack cracked an eye to find Pitch standing beside him with a steaming cup of coffee. “What time is it?” 

“A little after ten”. 

With a groan, Jack pushed himself to a sitting position and accepted the cup. 

Pitch sat cross legged beside Jack with a cup of his own. “Lots of cream and sugar, right?” 

“Yeah…you actually remembered how I like my coffee?” 

“Of course”. 

Jack took a drink, it was perfect. Two sips later he felt his blood begin to circulate again. 

“Feeling better?” Pitch asked, studying. 

Jack nodded “Starting to”. 

“…Since you’re still recovering I was thinking we could stay here today…Watch the rain, eat lots of room service”. 

Jack looked down. “Uhh…” 

“What?” 

“…Shouldn’t we go home? I have my book store and you have your clients…”

“Both can wait a day or two and you’re not well enough to travel. Pushing yourself could bring back a fever. Do you want to go back to the hospital?” 

Jack shuddered. “…Not particularly”. 

“Well then, it’s settled. I’m ordering breakfast”. 

Jack shuffled to the bathroom while Pitch called room service. The pain in his back had faded from a constant to an occasional throb. Placing a hand on either side of the sink he studied his reflection. Grey half-moons were visible beneath his eyes. There were faint shadows in the hollows of his face. He frowned at the white bandages, contrasted slightly by his pale skin. With a sigh he pushed a hand through his bed head. He turned the facet on and splashed cold water across his face. It was a relief to have his body temperature back to normal. Using one of the fluffy towels he wiped the clinging droplets away. Digging through his things, he found one of his favorite shirts. It was made of soft grey cotton with the words ‘Books Before Breathing’ written at a slant across the chest in black cursive. With it on he felt more like himself again. In the past couple of days he’d begun to feel a stranger in his own skin. 

“Nice shirt” Pitch commented with a half smirk. 

“Be nice, it’s one of my favorites”. 

“It certainly suits you” 

Jack frowned slightly, the pain was starting to return in full force. He leaned against the wall, not wanting to show it. 

“Would you stop trying to act tough and go lie down” Pitch said, glaring at him. 

“I’m fine”. 

“If you don’t get in that bed right now, I’m going to come over there and carry you to it, princess style”. 

Jack stared at him, one eyebrow raised not really believing the statement. 

In several strides Pitch stood in front of Jack arms folded “Why are you so pig headed about everything?” 

Jack stared sullenly up at Pitch “Why are you so bossy?”

Pitch’s expression was unbothered. “I simply have your well-being in mind”.

Jack remained unmoving, face set. 

“Alright, you asked for it”. 

Pitch grabbed one of Jack’s wrists lightning quick, but Jack pressed his shoulders against the wall and thrust his other arm out to push Pitch away. Jack glared at Pitch, trying to decide how best to escape without causing himself undue pain. Suddenly, something in Pitch’s face shifted and he pressed Jack’s wrist to the wall and leaned close till their bodies were almost touching. Surprised by the sudden and close proximity, Jack held his breath, eyes widening, hand frozen on Pitch’s chest. Pitch tilted his head…A loud knock shattered the silence. 

“Damn it!” Pitch cursed quietly, he pulled away with a regretful expression and went to answer the door. 

Jack slid down the wall, a boneless sensation pervading his body. He rested his forehead against his knees and tried to breath. Around the corner he could hear Pitch thanking someone. Lifting his head, he tried to pull himself together. The door clicked shut and Pitch reappeared carrying a tray of food. 

“That was untimely” he said, setting it on the bed before turning back to Jack. He looked slightly surprised to find Jack sitting on the floor. “What are you doing down there?” 

Jack simply looked at him in exasperation. 

“Come on, there’s oatmeal. I bet you like to dump a bunch of brown sugar on it” Pitch said, holding out a hand. 

Hesitating for a moment, Jack took the proffered limb and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. Pitch looked as if he wanted to say something more, but thought better of it. He released Jack’s hand and went to sit on the bed. Jack sank onto the opposite side, cramming the lump of confusing emotions away. His stomach growled, causing Pitch to snicker. 

“Hungry?” 

“Uh huh”. Jack focused on his breakfast. He poured generous amounts of brown sugar and milk onto his oatmeal. 

“As I thought. Want some eggs too?” 

“Nope”. 

“Not a fan?” ”. 

“Eggs just gross me out…they have that weird texture”. 

“Hmmm, I make an excellent omelet, maybe I’ll cook for you sometime”. 

“An omelet is even worse, it’s so rubbery”. 

“But you haven’t tried my omelet”. 

“Eggs are eggs and unless they don’t taste like eggs I’m not going to eat them”. 

Pitch was trying not to smile now “We’ll see”. 

Jack chose to ignore him and dug into his oatmeal instead. Ten minutes later he was drinking a second cup of coffee, back resting against the pillows. Pitch faced him from the end of the bed, munching a piece of bacon. “How many pieces of that stuff did you eat?” Jack asked him. 

“About nine” Pitch told him. 

“You’re going to get fat” Jack told him matter-of-factly. 

Pitch smiled “My job happens to be an excellent calorie burner”. 

“Yeah, chasing hairy little garden gnomes is great exercise”. 

“Yes, quite excellent. You want some before I eat it all?” Pitch asked, waving a piece. 

“No thanks. Oatmeal is about all I can handle right now”. 

Pitch’s expression switched to one of concern “You should probably take another dose of your meds” 

“It’s not bothering me that much”. 

“You’re a terrible liar, be a good boy and take your pills”. 

Jack squirmed, the ache was becoming somewhat vicious again, but he hated doing something when it was expressed as a demand. It automatically brought his stubborn streak to the surface. He glared mutely at Pitch. 

“I’m not above sitting on you and holding your nose”. 

“Don’t even think about it”. 

Pitch lurched toward him. 

“Fine! I’ll take them, but just as a preventative measure” he wasn’t ready for a repeat of their earlier interaction. Pitch watched as he swallowed them.

Satisfied, he scooted back to flop against the pillows next to Jack and flipped on the TV. After skimming through the channels for a few minutes he stopped on a rerun of Interview with the Vampire. 

“This is one of my favorite movies” Jack said, slightly surprised that Pitch had chosen it. 

“I know”. 

Jack turned to look at him “How?” 

“I looked at most of your book collection, remember?” 

“Oh, yeah”.

Jack silently watched the movie. Eventually the meds kicked in and he grew sleepy. 

His eyes closed just as Louis was saying ‘I’m frightened of myself’. 

A vampire snarl woke him half an hour later. One side of his face was warm and he smelled a faint scent of rain and cinnamon. He sat up with a jolt. He’d somehow managed to fall against Pitch’s shoulder in his sleep. 

“You could’ve stayed like that” Pitch said, still watching the movie. 

Jack rubbed his cheek. “I’m not tired anymore”. He glanced sideways at the other man, the tantalizing scent of rain and cinnamon had to belong to him. Pitch turned to meet his gaze, causing Jack to look away in embarrassment. 

“Checking me out?” 

“No!” Jack said a little louder than necessary, blood rising to his face. 

“Just teasing” Pitch smiled widely and brushed a fly-a-way strand of hair from Jack’s forehead. “Or not”. 

“You are such an ass hat!” Jack said, slapping Pitch’s hand away. 

Pitch broke out in silent laughter “Ass hat…how old are you?” 

Jack folded his arms “Just because I’m injured doesn’t mean I won’t punch you”. 

“Go ahead and try it”. 

At the end of his patience, Jack flung a fist at Pitch who caught it. With a grin he hooked his other arm around Jack’s waist and pulled him down into an embrace. For just a moment Jack gave in, didn’t struggle. The scent of rain and cinnamon filled his senses as Pitch held him close. “Pitch…” 

“Alright, alright” Pitch said, swiftly kissing the side of Jack’s neck before releasing him. 

Jack pulled away and lay so that his back faced Pitch, hiding his flushed face. The spot Pitch had kissed burned. He tried rubbing it, but the sensation didn’t fade. 

“Why did you do that?” Jack asked, his voice slightly unsteady. 

Pitch’s voice turned soft “Well…I like you. Is that so unbelievable?” 

Surprise bloomed in Jack’s stomach, a fluttery feeling. “…You like me?” 

Pitch let out a breath “Yes, you moron…You really don’t have a clue just how lovely you are…”. 

Jack made a muffled sound of disbelief. 

Lightly, Pitch drew an invisible line down Jack’s back. “...You seem to think you’re too damaged to create a connection, but suffering brings a clarity. You come to know what’s truly precious and important and that is a gift in and of itself. I understand that you’re simply trying to protect yourself from anymore of the hurt you’ve already experienced. I know it’s going to take a lot of time for you to truly trust me. But you are worth every second”.

Jack untensed his shoulders, the fight leaving him. He could feel tears begin to pool. Pain, fear, uncertainty, it hit him all at once. Like a freight train out of control, the inevitable crash had arrived. Almost more than anything else, Jack hated to cry in front of other people. All he could think of was getting to the bathroom and locking the door. He pressed a hand to his mouth, pushing back a sob. Slowly, he sat up, keeping his back to Pitch. 

“Jack?” 

The tiniest noise escaped him. 

“What’s the matter?” Pitch placed a hand on Jack’s shoulder. 

Jack shrugged away from the touch, his shoulders beginning to quiver. Before Pitch could say another word, Jack was on his feet. He rushed into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him and turning the lock. A spike of pain shot through his back as he crumpled to the floor shaking, tears running down his cheeks. 

“Hey! Jack! JACK!” the nob rattled. “JACK! Open the door!” 

Jack bit his wrist, muffling the sobs escaping his throat. Everything had turned into an unbearable ball of pain and confusion inside his chest and the only way to find relief was to cry his guts out until he was too tired to do so anymore. He knew that Pitch was right. It would be a lie to say he didn’t feel anything for the other man. The possibility of gaining the connection his heart cried out for and then losing it terrified him beyond words. Bad memories looped through his mind in an endless circle. 

“Jack! Please don’t do this, let me in!” 

“Go away” Jack moaned. 

“No! And if you don’t open this door, I’ll break it”. 

Jack was horrified by the thought and covered his head with both arms. A horrible squeaking noise came from the door as Pitch broke the knob. It swung open. 

“Jack…” 

“Leave me alone” Jack whispered hoarsely from under his arms. 

“I’m not going to do that” Pitch said softly. 

Jack felt the other man kneel beside him. Strong arms wrapped around him, pulling until his back rested against Pitch’s chest. Heat radiated through the thin fabric of his t-shirt. For a moment Jack struggled, the pain in his back felt dull and stabbing, but Pitch only held him all the tighter. His arms trembled violently at his sides. Minutes passed and so did the tremors. The tears slowed and his breathing eased, only an occasional sob escaping. With their bodies pressed together, he became aware of Pitch’s heartbeat thrumming out a steady rhythm. One of Pitch’s long fingers traced his collar bone.

“Hold on” Pitch said. He slid his arms under Jack’s legs and lifted him carefully. Jack didn’t say anything as Pitch carried him. He closed his eyes and felt himself sink onto the bed, Pitch’s weight beside him. He was too tired to fight anymore. The pain of pushing Pitch away had finally surpassed his fear of eventual rejection. It was no use denying what he’d begun to feel the first time he’d accepted Pitch’s offer to come along on an adventure. 

“Ready to trust me?” Pitch asked him softly, his voice holding a hint of unspoken promises. Jack was suddenly reminded of Peter asking Wendy to come away to never land. He wanted to laugh at himself for thinking of a book even in such a situation.

“…It’s becoming impossible not to” Jack muttered.

Pitch laughed quietly. “That’s the idea”. 

“Do you have any idea how jaded I am? This can’t turn out well…”

“Those words are only weak walls and there’s no need for them”. Placing his hands on either side of Jack’s shoulders, Pitch leaned over him “Look at me”. 

Jack opened his eyes to meet Pitch’s auric ones, pulse thrumming, but not with fear. He couldn’t look away, couldn’t breathe. Hypnotized by the rich golden gaze. There was light in the unfathomable depths, but there also dwelled a terrible darkness. Pitch wiped Jack’s tears with his sleeve, never looking away. Jack remained motionless as Pitch cupped the side of his face with gentle fingers. Limbs heavy and mind oddly blank, he couldn’t find the will to pull away or make a sound. Slowly, Pitch leaned in, the now familiar scent of rain and cinnamon enveloped Jack. He closed his eyes in anticipation. The touch of Pitch’s lips was petal light and warm. Breathe hitching, Jack shivered. Fingers digging into the sheets, he was divided between the urge to push Pitch away and the desire to pull him closer. A hand smoothed his hair back, running through the silky, tousled strands. Jack sucked in a startled breath as Pitch licked a hot path up the curve of his neck. A soft sound escaped his throat as Pitch tasted a sensitive spot on the side of his neck, leaving a possessive mark on the pale skin. Head spinning, Jack tried to draw in air, but only managed a single shaky inhale. 

Suddenly Pitch was kissing him for real. A shock ran through his body, every nerve ending alight. Pitch’s mouth pressed against his with just the right amount of pressure, not rough, but firm and somehow gentle all at the same time. They both smelled like coffee. The taste of it was faint on Pitch’s lips. The places Pitch’s fingers touched him felt hot. Jack reached up to grab a fistful of Pitch’s shirt, needing some sort of anchor. Pitch made a low noise of approval and ran the tip of his tongue over Jack’s lower lip. For one dizzying immeasurable moment Jack was consumed by Pitch’s mouth on his and knew nothing else. 

When Pitch finally pulled away Jack sucked air deep into his lungs. Slowly, he came back to himself. Words deserted him. “That was…” 

“Delicious” Pitch said as he caught a single clinging tear from Jack’s face and tasted it. 

Jack let his hands fall and closed his eyes again, too weak to move. The pain in his back had suddenly become very noticeable and the edges of his vision flickered. 

“I’m flattered that my Kissing skills had such an effect, but…are you alright?”

“…You exhaust me. I...I'm not used to this sort of thing. Used to other people at all really. I know you won't hurt me on purpose, but-” 

“Jack, you exhaust yourself by wielding that mistrust of yours like a knife. Rather than protect you, it's become a self-harming weapon”. 

Jack screwed up his face, trying to find the words. “It may be difficult to understand, but my wariness of others saved me once upon a time and it’s not something I can easily let go of…It’s become a part of who I am…but I think I may be ready to change that…for you…” Jack felt as if he’d just bared a piece of his soul. His shoulders scrunched as he awaited the words that could rebuild or destroy him. 

Pitch took Jack’s hand in his own and pressed it to his chest. “Do you feel that? It’s beating like crazy. Never think that you don’t affect me…If you can’t trust my words, trust my heart”. 

Jack silently regarded Pitch for a long moment, feeling the quick, warm beat beneath his fingers. He nodded slowly “…Alright”. 

Pitch half smiled genuinely, eyes lighting like golden lamps. "Alright". 

Jack sighed into the silence. It felt as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. The pain in his back was becoming sharper and he had to make an effort not to squirm. 

“Jack, you’re bleeding!” 

“What?!” 

Pitch pulled back to show Jack his palm. It was smeared with blood. 

“Fuck…I must have reopened it”. With a hiss of pain he sat up. There was a large blood stain across the sheets where his back had previously rested. 

Pitch slid off the bed, eyes worried. “Don’t move, I’m getting the bandages”. 

Jack slumped forward with a moan and swung his legs off the edge of the bed, the sudden loss of contact left him feeling oddly alone. Pitch grabbed the bandages from the coffee table and returned to Jack’s side. Carefully, he tugged Jack’s shirt off. 

“Aren’t we going a little fast?” Jack joked weakly. 

Pitch laughed low in his throat, a velvety sound. “Feeling bold are we?” Pitch tossed the shirt on the floor. 

“That was my favorite shirt” Jack said sadly. 

“I know some tricks for removing blood”. 

“I don’t want to know why”. 

Pitch hissed sympathetically between his teeth as he peeled the bandages away. 

“You’ll have to lie on your stomach, one of the stitches came loose but I think I can retie it”. 

Expression tight, Jack did as asked. “mmmff!” he made an involuntary noise as Pitch wiped the fresh blood away. Biting his lip, he buried his face in the sheets as a light but painful tugging sensation was caused by Pitch re-tying the stitch. 

“Done...You’re really tense” Pitch fingered the knotted muscles of Jack’s back. 

“You might be too if you’d just popped a stitch” Jack said, face still buried.   
Pitch pushed his thumbs into the knots. Jack jerked his head up “That hurts!” 

“Would you lay down” Pitch pressed into a particularly hard muscle. 

“Ouch!” Jack rested his head against the bed again. It hurt…but felt kind of good. 

“Good lord, do you ever relax? You’re way too tense”. 

“Sometimes…when I’m reading”. 

Pitch snorted “Of course, I should’ve known”. 

Jack groaned “Do…you…have to be so rough?” His toes curled. 

“Yes. Hang on, it’ll get better in a minute”. 

Jack slowly relaxed as his muscles unknotted. 

“Better?” 

“Mmm hmm”. 

Pitch laughed “You shouldn’t let yourself get like this, why not go to a therapist?” 

“I don’t like strangers touching me”. 

“And what about me?” 

“…You’re alright” Jack whispered. 

“Just alright?” Pitch began tracing light patterns across Jack’s back and down his sides. Slowly, he slid a hand down Jack’s arm and tugged him onto his side. 

Jack felt a strange spike of anticipation. He caught a glimpse of shifting golden eyes before Pitch’s lips sealed to his. He decided not to fight it. Kissing Pitch felt like fiction. Even though he knew exactly what they were doing, it felt so mysterious. The way his body seemed to liquefy, the unbidden speed of his heart, how the room seemed to spin and time stand still. His mind tried to rationalize everything, block any escaping emotions. But with Pitch kissing him all of that became impossible. Jack opened his eyes when Pitch broke the kiss. 

“…This might not be such a good idea right now, I still need to fix your bandages” the hungry expression on his face said he’d much rather continue. 

Jack blinked, a little surprised that Pitch had been the one to stop them. 

Pitch carefully pulled him upright and Jack faced away from the other man. He watched Pitch’s slimmed fingered hand wrap his waist in white. After he’d finished, Pitch placed his hands on Jack’s upper arms and pressed his lips to the curve between Jack’s neck and shoulder. 

Jack jerked in surprise at the unexpected contact and a spike of pain stabbed into his back. He cringed, pressing his lips tightly together. 

“Would you be more careful! You’ll never heal if you keep being reckless with your body!” 

Jack snorted. “Says the person who just felt me up”. 

Pitch laughed. 

Jack rolled his eyes. “…I’m going to get a new shirt…and wash my face”. He walked stiffly to the bathroom. The mirror revealed a blue tinge in his cheeks and a brightness in his eyes that hadn't been there before. For a moment he thought his hair had gone silver, but it was only a trick of the light. Turning the water as cold as it would go, he splashed his face. With unfocused eyes he wondered what on earth was going to happen next. They had obviously started something. Where would it lead?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, some action for Jack and Pitch! I thought it was it about time that they got to know each other a little better. ;) Anyways, I hope you guys enjoyed fluffy chapter number two because things are going to get a bit more serious from here on out.   
> ~Winterberry


	7. Downward Spiral

The rest of the day passed in a warm and hazy blur. Jack slipped in and out of sleep at Pitch’s side, lulled by the constant rain. Pitch occasionally brushed a hand across Jack’s forehead, feeling for another fever. His body temperature remained normal, but exhaustion had finally overwhelmed him. The meds helped with the pain and Pitch’s hand over his helped keep the nightmares at bay. 

Jack woke to find the last of the evening light disappearing. He rubbed his eyes, trying to focus. Turning his head to the side, he looked at Pitch. A small shock of surprise went through him. Pitch was asleep, breathing softly, his mouth slightly open. For a moment Jack was afraid that Pitch would wake and make some sort of snide remark, but he didn’t. 

Jack studied the other man from under his eyelashes. There was a carefree quality to Pitch’s face that wasn’t there in wakefulness. Dark smudges marked the skin under his eyes. A sudden realization dawned on Jack. Pitch looked nearly as tired as he felt. The events of the last couple of days had been trying to say the least. It had been terrifying to come so close to death, to feel his life force eek away in increments of blood. What had it been like for Pitch? He remembered Pitch mentioning that he’d lost someone before. Who had it been? A sudden and overwhelming wave of curiosity took him, who was the man lying beside him? Pitch knew much more of Jack than Jack knew of him. It was something, Jack decided, he would have to remedy. 

Very slowly and quietly Jack maneuvered off of the bed. Pitch made a noise in his sleep, but didn’t wake. His body felt incredibly stiff and his throat dry. He snagged a bottled water from the tiny hotel fridge and took long swallows. The cool liquid slid down his throat bringing instant relief. His back still hurt, but he could feel his strength beginning to return. Very quietly he shut the bathroom door and flicked the light on. He couldn’t suppress the gasp that escaped him. His hair had turned completely silver-white and the irises of his eyes had gone ice blue. A resounding thump came from out in the hotel room and the bathroom door flew open a moment later. Pitch stood in the doorway, eyes wide. 

Jack turned slowly, hands in his now silver hair. 

“Oh” Pitch said as he took in Jack’s new coloring. 

“OH?! What the hell is happening to me?!” 

“It’s finally gone, the glamour” Pitch studied Jack with interest. “This is what you really look like, what you were born looking like”. 

Jack couldn’t look away from his reflection. Frost patterns had spread across the top of the shirt he wore. Had they always been there? After the initial shock had passed, he found that he didn’t hate it. Hair the color of snow-heavy clouds, eyes like ice and sky. His appearance now matched the winter power that dwelled within. For a moment, his soul sang out with the rightness of it. 

Pitch was still watching him. “Are you alright?” 

“I feel…good…Like something heavy was lifted”. It was the oddest feeling. He hadn’t realized how the glamour felt until it was gone. 

Pitch reached out and ran his hand through Jack’s snowy locks. Jack didn’t resist, his scalp tingled under the light touch. A pleasant sort of pins and needles. 

“A glamour is something like a cloak or a mask. It becomes tiresome to hide one’s true appearance after a time. Perhaps on some psychological level you were aware of it…like the weight of an un-removable garment. Wearing the magic of another is never as comfortable as wearing your own. The person who cast it had to have been powerful…very powerful”. 

“Do you think it could have been my real parents?” 

“That is a possibility”. 

“I want to find them”. 

“I know”. There was a cautionary note to Pitch’s tone. 

Jack sighed “I know, it’s unsafe to go into the fey realm without being prepared, blah, blah, blah”. 

Pitch frowned heavily. “There are beings in that place that make Cimmerian look harmless. She may as well be a pig tail sporting little girl”. 

Jack snorted. “Nice simile, but I still want to go”. 

“You should have a little more cautionary fear after what happened to you, you’re not even fully healed yet”. 

“What happened with Cimmerian was frightening. She was ruthless, a murderer, but that doesn’t make her strong. We don’t even know exactly what she is as you said yourself”. 

“Jack, she skewered a fully grown man with a sword like he was some pig on a hunt. Don’t underestimate what you don’t know” Pitch’s words held a harshness. “Just because you suddenly feel stronger doesn’t mean you can be reckless”. 

Jack shuddered, the scene replaying in his head for the thousandth time. “…I’ve lived a lie of a life up until now…and despite the risk, despite the fact that I’m afraid, I have to find the truth”. He gripped the counter, fingers turning white and bloodless. He was terrified, but he didn’t feel so groundless anymore. A sense of purpose had overtaken him and it felt good. Purpose brought confidence and confidence would give him strength. 

Pitch groaned. “You’re not going to let this go are you?” 

“Nope”. 

“As I said, whoever cast the glamour was strong. Among the fey, strong and dangerous go hand in hand. There was a reason you were sent to the human world, what if it was for your own protection? You may not like the answers you find and your life will certainly never be the same if you get them”. 

Jack’s face was set stubbornly “I understand…but that doesn’t change my mind”. 

Pitch pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. “I will agree to take you only because I’m afraid you’ll get yourself killed if you go looking on your own…If we go into the realm there will be conditions”. 

“Ok…like what?” 

“You will LISTEN to me and do as I say. You will stay by my side and avoid talking to other fey unless absolutely necessary. You will not accept anything from anyone. This is very important, do you understand?” 

The urge to rebel against the demand in Pitch’s voice was hard to suppress. “…I understand” he wanted the answers too badly. 

“We’ll go after you’re fully healed” Pitch said with a sigh that spoke of misgivings. 

“But-” 

“Don’t argue with me, Jack Frost. I’ve already agreed to more than I intended to. We will go after you’re completely healed, no sooner”. 

Jack wanted to argue, but Pitch’s glare stopped the words in his mouth. He suspected that Pitch had injected a little fear into the look for good measure. “Fine”. 

Pitch’s mouth softened from its severe line. “Have patience, everything will be revealed in time”. 

“I hope so…and Pitch?” 

“Yes?” 

“Thank you”. 

Pitch looked taken a back for a moment. A slow half smile graced his face. “You are most welcome”. 

“I think I need to go sit down”. 

Pitch placed an arm around Jack’s shoulders. “Back to bed with you then”. 

Jack rolled his eyes. He didn’t flinch under Pitch’s touch. After what had happened between them…as long as it was Pitch…he felt ok. He took one last glance at his reflection. Was his skin a shade paler? Suddenly he remembered something. Pitch wore a glamour of his own. 

He gave Pitch a sideways look. “You know…I still haven’t seen you without your glamour”. 

A smirk spread across Pitch’s face. “Do you want to see now?” 

Carefully folding a leg beneath him, Jack sat in a dark leather arm chair across from the bed. “As long as you’re not some scaly creature underneath” he said, trying to keep a straight face. 

Pitch raised one eyebrow in the manner that he did when he was questioning another’s mental capacity. “I most certainly am not, don’t confuse me with a reptile”. 

“Hey, I didn’t even know what I really looked like until a few minutes ago, who knows?” 

Silently Pitch sat on the edge of the bed, arms crossed. “You really can’t feel it?” 

“Feel what?” 

“My glamour”. 

“…No”. 

“Try this…Let your eyes go unfocused and think about something else. A bit of poetry, a song”.   
Jack did as Pitch suggested, leaning back in the chair. He mentally recited The Raven as he let his vision blur. Slowly a slight grey fuzziness appeared around Pitch. Something clicked in his mind, something that said; this is magic. Refocusing, he blinked and the odd mirage disappeared. “I saw something…It was like a mist all around you”. 

Pitch smiled “Good, that’s my glamour. Every fey’s looks a bit different”. 

“I can’t see it now”. 

“As it should be. If it were an obvious magic it wouldn’t be nearly as valuable. Though untrained, you are not a lower class fey. Especially considering that you’re able to see my glamour”. 

“…Can you completely change your appearance?” 

“A glamour is used for several different reasons. For one, a fey might wish to appear more beautiful than they actually are. Another is simply to hide inhuman attributes for the purpose of entering the human world, like you and I. Lastly is the complete change in appearance, to become another. Perhaps you have heard the story of Merlin and Uther Pendragon? Merlin was a fey and glamoured Uther to look like the Lady Igraine’s husband so that he might have her for a night. A tryst that produced the King Arthur of legend”. 

“You’re saying King Arthur actually lived?!” 

“Yes, is that so surprising considering all that you know?” 

Jack was a little shocked to discover that one of his favorite stories had been a living breathing person, albeit hundreds of years ago. “Wait…how old are you?” 

Pitch actually winced. “…Let’s just say I’ve seen the passing of more than a few centuries”. 

Jack’s mouth hung open for a moment. Pitch frowned at him. 

“I am not truly old by the standards of our kind. You know…You won’t physically age now that you’ve reached adulthood. Well, not quickly at least. It takes thousands of years for us to age and even then we can make ourselves look younger…Haven’t you ever wondered why you still look like you’re a teenager?” 

Jack shut his mouth. “I…No…that’s a lot to process”. 

Pitch tilted his head. “You have all the time in the world, you’re immortal”. 

Jack glared at the other man. “Now that you’ve thrown all of this crap at me, take the glamour off”. 

A grin spread over Pitch’s face. “If it will make you feel better”. Like a dissipating mist, silvery energy dispersed a couple inches from Pitch’s skin and disappeared. 

Jack stared. 

Pitch’s skin had gone from a light olive tone to the silver-grey of river stones. His eyes in contrast were bright yellow-gold and almost seemed to glow in comparison to the golden tawny color they had been before. What slight curve there had been to the bridge of his nose had disappeared. It was now straight, giving his face an even fiercer appearance. Shadows encased his arms in an ombre down to the wrists and disappeared up into the sleeves of his dark t-shirt. 

“You’re grey” Jack said stupidly. 

“I hadn’t noticed” Pitch replied sarcastically. 

“…It’s not as shocking as I thought. The way you built it up I was use you’d have some strange extra appendage or something”. 

Pitch let out a laugh “Sorry to disappoint you”. 

Jack gave another eye roll and rested his chin between his thumb and pointer finger. “Definitely more on the relieved than disappointed side”. 

Pitch stood and took two long steps until his shins were pressed to the front of Jack’s chair. He loomed over Jack, placing his hands on the arm rests. Jack automatically leaned back until his head rested against the smooth leather of the chair, Pitch’s face inches from his own.

“Now we see each other as we truly are” Pitch said softly. 

Pitch leaned close as if to whisper a secret and brushed his lips across Jack’s cheek. They were dry and warm. A shiver went up Jack’s spine as his eyelids fluttered closed and his pulse picked up, echoing inside his own ears. One hand came up to caress his cheek, outlining his cheekbone with a light touch. And then Pitch’s lips were on his. Trembling slightly, he raised his arms and wrapped them around Pitch’s neck. Slowly, Pitch brushed his tongue across Jack’s mouth. 

Jack moaned and knotted his fingers into the fabric between Pitch’s shoulder blades. His lips parting in surrender. The rain pattered against the window like a restless heartbeat. Pitch’s tongue was almost too hot in his mouth as it traced every contour there. Jack could taste something bitter-sweet like ginger and cinnamon. He managed a tiny inhale through his nose. Pitch smelled like the fall of night after a storm, dark and wild. Hesitantly, Jack pushed against Pitch’s tongue with his own. Pitch retreated back into his own mouth, an invitation. Carefully, Jack ran the tip of his tongue over Pitch’s teeth. They were slightly pointed, but not enough to cause harm. He tasted deeper, enveloped in silky heat. A groan came from low in Pitch’s throat. Their lips pressed together with enough force to bruise, slow and fiery. 

A ripping sound came from somewhere beside Jack, causing him to jerk in surprise. He looked to the side to find Pitch’s fingers buried in the arm rest. 

Pitch looked just as surprised “Whoops”. 

“Whoops? You just punctured the furniture”. Jack had meant to sound sarcastic, but the words came out breathless. 

“Probably for the best…You’re not up for that right now” Pitch said, stepping back with a mildly dissatisfied expression. 

The blood rushed to Jack’s face, coloring his cheeks a delicate blue. They had yet to have the I’ve-never-done-it-before discussion. It was going to have to happen eventually. A not unpleasant shudder worked its way through him. Was that what he wanted? Until Pitch even the slightest touch had been painful. What if he had another panic attack? But if their kisses were anything to go by, Pitch was a very accomplished lover. 

Pitch was watching him. A pronounced smirk on his face. “Jack, whatever are you thinking of?” 

Jack gulped. “Nothing” his voice came out a little too high. 

“Nothing, hmmm?” Pitch took a step closer, but didn’t touch Jack. “You don’t have to be afraid. When the time comes you’ll ask me…there may even be some begging”. Pitch’s eyes held intense promise. 

Jack tried to swallow again, but his throat had gone dry. He stood, ducked around Pitch and grabbed his water. He used the pretense of taking a drink to keep his back turned. He set it down slowly and turned around. The man was still smirking. “Sooo, are you going to teach me to control this glamour thing?” 

Pitch laughed behind closed lips, a deep velvety sound. “Changing the subject now? It was just getting interesting”. 

Jack’s expression was mutinous. 

Pitch sighed. “If we must, but this lesson won’t be nearly as enjoyable as the other”. He fell gracefully onto the chair Jack had just vacated. Legs crossed and fingers steepled. 

With an exasperated expression, Jack sat on the bed. He reached a hand behind him and lightly rubbed at the bandages there. They were beginning to itch. “You…Just tell me how to make my own glamour”. 

That arrogant grin was still plastered in Pitch’s face. “Alright…Close your eyes”. 

Jack did as he was bid, watching Pitch’s smug face disappear. 

“Find the core of your power, like you did the other day”. 

It was easier to do so now. As if a dampener had been lifted from the well of ice and snow. The cold curled inside him, waiting to be released. “Ok?” 

“Don’t let it go. Just push the energy out, imagine it as a second skin. Focus on becoming solid and visible….Very good…Now, visualize how you want yourself to appear down to the last detail”. 

Jack imagined his brown hair and eyes. The fading of the frost on his shirt and the warming of his skin. 

“Let it settle…Perfect”. 

Jack opened his eyes “Did I do it? Will people be able to see me?” 

“Go have a look”. 

The window reflected his image back at him. He looked how he had the day before. His hair and eyes a warm shade of brown. The glamour tingled slightly. Like the touch of satin. It didn’t feel heavy or foreign like the unknown glamour had. 

“See? Not so hard once you know how…I have to say, I prefer you without it”. 

“It feels better…It’s easier to feel my cold now, easier to use it”. 

Pitch regarded him for a moment. “I suspect that there might have been a bit of a block on your ability, a part of that foreign glamour. Your power was too strong for it, that’s probably why it came in spurts or unexpectedly…There’s also the little issue of having your ability tied to fear from past rejection…and abuse”. 

Jack sighed “Maybe it’s time I told you…” 

“Jack, you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to”. But Pitch’s face, however, held a controlled curiosity. 

“No…I’m sick of carrying all these secrets around…If I’m ever going to tell anyone it’s going to be you”. 

Pitch blinked, then smiled. “Confide away”. 

Jack took a breath, steadying himself. “I can’t really blame them for their reactions…In the beginning at least. I think they first discovered my strangeness when my mother tried to bathe me. I was only a toddler at the time, but I heard the story later. Every time she tried to put me in a tub of warm water I would scream. They didn’t know what was wrong with me, even with the glamour I’ve always run at a lower temperature. The doctor couldn’t find anything and put it down to low blood circulation. Eventually she tried running it cold. I think my father had already begun to think of me as a freak”. Jack found that he couldn’t stop the words falling from his lips now that he’d begun.

Pitch listened silently, unmoving. 

“When I was around six I found that I could create frost patterns. I was sending them up a wall in the house, I didn’t know it was strange to do so. My father came around the corner and saw what I was doing. He knelt beside me. I can remember trying to show him…He put his hand over mine and pressed it against the wall hard enough to shift bone. I being six years old started to cry, but he didn’t let go. He told me that if I ever did what I was doing again that I would be locked up somewhere far away, somewhere bad. Maybe it was some misguided attempt to protect me…I don’t know. I ran to my mother and she iced the bruises with pursed lips, but didn’t say a word to my father…That was how it began. I started school soon after, but by then I knew not to reveal what I could do. He always liked to drink, my father, but it worsened over time. Maybe he hated his office job, or maybe having a wife and child was something he felt like he was supposed to do, but didn’t really care for…I never asked. I tried not to get close to anyone at school, I couldn’t let them find out. If my ability leaked out at home he would hit me. My mother was afraid of him and rarely said a word against the things he did. She fixed me up after…I suppose I began to resent her in time as well…When I was fifteen I discovered that I could fly. Almost every night after that I waited for my parents to go to bed and went out. It was the only time I really felt free. I used books to fill the hours in-between. For two years we avoided one another as much as possible. Things were ok. I was graduating high school soon. I couldn’t wait to leave. Halfway through my senior year I returned from a routine night out. As soon as I shut the window behind me, I knew something was wrong. He was sitting on my bed. I didn’t really know how to use my ice back then…he beat me within an inch of my life. The next day I packed a bag and left…I had an aunt from my mother’s side that lived a ways from where the book store is…She took me in without question. My parents never came to look for me. I didn’t realize at the time, but my aunt had cancer. She passed away just over a year later, leaving me everything she owned. I sold the house and bought the book store…and that’s where I’ve been ever since”. He took a breath, he had finally told someone. All of it was out the open. His chest felt raw and hollowed out. 

Jack dared to look at Pitch. 

Pitch’s face was livid, fingers digging new marks into the chair. “If I ever find that man…” his voice was dangerously low. 

Jack stared at him, wide eyed. “Pitch, that was years ago. I’m not a kid anymore and he isn’t part of my life”. 

Still furious, Pitch stared at Jack “That doesn’t change what he did…His presence may be gone, but the effect remains”. 

Jack clenched his fists. “I already know that I’m damaged, you don’t need to spell it out for me”. 

Pitch looked taken aback. “That wasn’t my intent…I care for you, did you expect me to feel nothing? How can I not be furious that he hurt you?” 

“I…Thank you? You can’t kill him, he’s just a human. Albeit not a very good example of one. All I want is to never see him again”. 

A low growl came from deep within Pitch’s throat. “I could simply terrorize him”. 

Jack shook his head. “I’m touched that you’re angry on my behalf, but he’s not worth it”. 

“He best never show his face, I can’t say what I’d do to him”. 

“…I didn’t expect you to get that mad”. 

Pitch frowned at him. “Mad? I’m furious! He hit you!” 

Jack winced. His heart ached a little. It felt strange to have someone angry on his behalf. The idea of his father experiencing a fraction of what he’d been put through had a vengeful appeal. But his mother…despite her inaction some part of him still cared for her and he suspected that hurting his father would wound her as well. Her existence relied too heavily on his. Besides, they weren’t even his real parents. He simply wanted to forget his childhood. Consuming thousands of paper worlds had aided in this quest, but he knew that it’d take something more to heal the deep but invisible damage. He looked at Pitch. 

“Come here” Pitch said, beckoning with one hand. 

Jack rose and took slow steps. He stood in front of Pitch, unsure of the other man’s intentions. 

Pitch reached out and took one of Jack’s hands in his. He tugged gently, pulling Jack down onto his lap. Careful to avoid the wound, he wrapped his arms around Jack’s chest and tucked the younger’s head under his chin. 

It was very warm, but it felt nice. Jack slowly relaxed. Pitch’s only intention seemed to be holding him. 

“You smell like freshly fallen snow” Pitch said, brushing a hand across Jack’s ribs. 

“Hmmm, I am a being of snow”. He raised one hand and released a tiny spark of ice between his fingers. In seconds a perfect snowflake solidified. 

Pitch exhaled “Exquisite”. 

Jack smiled and let the flake dissolve into nothing. It was coming to him more easily. 

“My ability isn’t anywhere near as beautiful”. 

“I don’t know…Darkness has an elegance all its own” Jack said quietly. 

Pitch made an appreciative sound. “What goes together better than cold and dark?” 

Jack nodded and found himself drifting off. He really needed to stop doing that. 

They checked out the next morning, glamours in place. Jack had woken to discover that his wound was already closing. He was healing quickly. Pitch had carried him to the bed at some point during the night. They’d both slept till the morning’s first light had touched the cold glass of the room’s window. 

Jack suspected that Pitch was holding himself back from further physical interaction until he’d healed. Still, Pitch didn’t abstain completely. The occasional caress or lingering glance made Jack’s heart beat faster or sent a shiver up his spine. He still couldn’t stop the occasional twinge of fear when it was unexpected. 

Pitch left some extra money on the arm of the damaged chair, not wanting to explain what had happened to it. On their way out Jack gave the room a last glance. A lot had happened there. 

“Maybe we’ll come back sometime” Pitch said, regarding the space with a similar fondness. 

“…That would be nice”. 

The ride home passed quickly. Rather than rain, wispy fog clung to the dips and curves of the road. It didn’t seem to impede Pitch’s driving. Jack suspected that Pitch’s eyesight was beyond the norm. He found himself slowly coming to enjoy the closeness the bike provided. The way Pitch’s body heat sunk through the fabric of his coat and into his chest. Strangely, Pitch didn’t turn cold under Jack’s touch, his heat constant and unwavering. Jack thought of Niv waiting back in his apartment. He hoped she was doing alright, he’d left her enough food and water to last a week. 

As soon as they pulled up in front of Frostbook Jack could tell that something was wrong. He dismounted quickly and dashed to the door as fast as his wound would allow. 

“Jack! Wait!” Pitch yelled, hurriedly pushing out the bike’s kickstand. 

The lock was broken and the door swung open under his touch. Inside was chaos. Hundreds of books had been torn from shelves. Burned and torn. Long scorch marks scored the floor and walls as if a massive laser had wreaked destruction upon the premises. He tore up the stairs, mindless of the pain. His apartment was similarly destroyed. Chairs broken apart, stuffing strewn across the floor. Everything in tatters. Those same strange scorch marks everywhere. Pitch was calling his name from the bottom of the stairs. 

In the center of it all rested a tiny white form. Jack fell to his knees beside her. He gathered Niveous’ small broken body into his arms. A wild sob rose in his throat. The crunching sound of shattered glass and wood underfoot came from behind him. 

“Oh god…I’m so sorry Jack…We can’t stay here. It isn’t safe”. 

“It’s my fault, all my fault” Jack whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry not sorry for the brutal cliff hanger! Things are going to get more interesting from here on out.   
> ~Winterberry


	8. Love and Revenge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry this update took a few more weeks than usual! I moved and it was kind of a nightmare. I have a crazy number of books and ended up building my own shelves at my new place. Lets just say it took a lot longer and lots of holes in the wall later than I thought it would. About the last chapter; I didn't realize how much Niveous's death would hit people in the feels! Sorry if I really upset anyone, but as I said in some of the comments, her death was kind of necessary for Jack to leave the shop behind. Anyhow, I wrote an extra long extra 'ahem' special chapter to make up for it. Thank you, thank you, thank you for the comments and kudos! I love hearing what you guys think!! You may want to read this one in your bedroom, with a cup of tea. Yep.  
> ~Winterberry 
> 
> PS: I would look for the next chapter around next Sunday (the 15th).

Pitch reached out “It isn’t your fault, Jack. You’re not the one who killed her. This place reeks of powerful magic. Whoever did this would have destroyed you!” The words came out almost angrily and held a fear of what might have been.

Jack jerked away, shoulders tight. Too enraged for tears or comfort. “I’m going to destroy whoever did this”.

Someone had killed his one companion, the creature that had been by his side when he’d felt alone in the universe. The home he had built for himself had been invaded and demolished. A furious storm of ice and cold welled up inside Jack. The glamour flickered and faded away as he lost control. He laid the tiny, broken body down and stumbled back. His breath came out in gasps. Just when he’d started to heal everything was coming apart again.

Pitch took a slow step toward him, hands still out in a placating gesture. “Jack, we need leave. Now. Whoever did this could come back”. He spoke carefully, sensing Jack’s mental state.

Jack shook his head violently. He couldn’t hold it in anymore. “Get back!” he cried out just before a torrent of ice and snow burst from his hands. His vision went white. Pain gripped his heart in an iron fist. The still-healing wound was nothing.

Minutes passed and Jack fell to his knees with bruising force. The gale diminished to a few snowflakes. He’d spent all of the excess power in a single burst. Slowly, he came back to himself. Jagged formations of ice curled out in a circle around the place he kneeled.

The room had dropped below freezing and ice crystals drifted through the air. Wild frost patterns marked the walls beside the vertical scorch marks. Jack felt a burst of gut wrenching fear. What had he done? He went shakily to his feet, eyes searching the debris for Pitch and Niveous. As the last of the flakes settled Jack spotted a blue-black wall of ice where Pitch had been standing. A cracking sound split the air as it fell apart. Pitch stood surrounded by his shadows. They looked at one another for a moment, eyes wide.

Jack felt his knees begin to buckle again.

Pitch swooped forward, catching Jack with an arm before he could hit the floor. His other limb curled around Niv’s body.

“I’m so sorry…I couldn’t stop…god. What if I had hurt you?!” Jack’s voice came out roughly. Had he been screaming?

“I’m not that easy to hurt” Pitch said, breathe fogging in the air. “Now that that’s out of your system, we’re leaving”. He kept an arm around the little body and pulled Jack toward the door.

“…You protected her” Jack said, allowing himself to be steered.

“I didn’t think you would be able to forgive yourself if anything happened to her body”.

Jack closed his eyes against the ache in his chest for a moment. “No, I don’t think I would…Are you really alright?”

“Jack Frost, you’re not going to obsess over this. As a centuries old being it would be embarrassing to obtain injury from a little precipitation”.

Jack laughed humorlessly and looked back at the wickedly shaped ice sculptures. “Little huh?”

Pitch released him to pull the curtains over the windows. “Does your power feel depleted?”

“No…More like I burned off some overflow”. Jack could feel his mouth stretched in a grim line.

“There you are. As I said, it would take more than that”. Reaching into Jack’s pocket, he pulled out the shop key and locked the door behind them. “At least no one will bother the place now. We’re lucky the police weren’t called…This must have happened within the last couple of hours”.

Pitch reached for Jack again.

“It’s alright. I can stand on my own…Can I have her, please?”

Pitch grimaced, but carefully handed the body to Jack. He’d wrapped a torn piece of cloth around it.

Jack held the empty shell of his friend against his chest. The weather was dark and a strong wind had begun to pick up. The few people out and about in the distance kept their heads down, heading toward indoor sanctuaries of dry warmth. He wondered if his outburst had anything to do with the building storm.

With a last glance back, Jack took in the shop. He had a feeling that it would be a long time before he saw it again, if ever at all. It felt wrong to leave it in its ruined state. Silently, he made a prayer that it would remain undisturbed.

Pitch looked from side to side, golden eyes reduced to slits and jaw clamped tight. Shreds of shadow drifted around his sleeves and from beneath the edge of his coat.

Jack watched as Pitch wheeled the motorbike into his office, shouldered their bags and relocked it.

“What’d you do that for?” Jack asked him, confused as to how they were going to leave.

Pitch ignored the question. “Come here”. He held his arms open.

“I am kinda upset, but I really don’t think this is the time for that”. Jack wondered if maybe a piece of ice had hit Pitch on the head.

With an exhale, Pitch closed the space between them in two strides. He locked his hands onto Jack’s upper arms and twisted them toward the shadows under the buildings. With a lurch they dissolved into darkness. It felt as if some invisible body of water was pressing in on Jack from all sides. His head ached from the pressure, but it was over before he really had a chance to feel afraid. They were in the middle of a forest. Snow coated the Pines all around them.

“What the hell was that!?”

Pitch let go of Jack. “My ulterior mode of transportation”.

“A little warning would have been nice!” Jack said, scowling at the other man.

“It wasn’t safe to stay where we were and explaining would have taken too long”.

“It would have taken maybe one sentence. Something like; ‘We’re going to transport using my shadows”. Easy enough”.

“I would have if I’d thought such a simple explanation would sate your curiosity. We both know it would’ve been twenty questions and ten minutes later”.

Jack grumbled and looked around again. He stood on at least a foot of snow and fog drifted through the cold air in translucent ribbons. “Where are we anyways?”

“At the base of the mountains up above the town. I have a safe house here”.

“That would explain why it looks a little bit familiar…I think I’ve flown over this area before”.

Pitch nodded. “I could’ve sworn I felt a presence overhead once or twice in the past…I’ve always set up a bolt hole some distance from my primary dwelling, just in case it were to become compromised”.

“I see…” Jack glanced down at the bundle in his arms, face falling. “I want to bury her”.

Pitch’s face softened. “Then that’s what we’ll do”.

They found a towering Pine, its roots rising above the earth to expose a crust of frozen dirt. Jack began to dig into the soil with his nails before Pitch stopped him.

“Wait, I can do that”. A long shadow snaked down his arm and burrowed into the earth. When he pulled back there was a perfect hole, several feet deep.

Jack lay her in the earth and sealed the small grave with the loose dirt. He stepped back, throat tight and dry. Without thinking, he extended his hand. Frost crept forth from his fingertips to cover the grave. The ice slowly grew into a cluster of perfect miniature white roses. Stepping back, he wiped at a few escaped tears.

Pitch reached out and took his hand. “Let’s go”.

They trudged across the snow, hand in hand. Pitch left deep indentations, but Jack made hardly a mark upon the crystallized surface. Several silent moments later they emerged into a circular clearing. It was beautiful, the snow unmarked and pristine. A shadow curled from Pitch’s palm and sunk into the center of the white expanse.

Jack watched as a dark hole was revealed in the earth. “Where the heck does that go?” he said, looking down into the impenetrable darkness.

“To my second home”. Pitch pulled away and stepped into the opening, disappearing in an instant.

Jack gritted his teeth. He sat, swung his legs into the opening and let himself slide into open space. It was warmer than the winter wonderland up above, but the air was still cool inside. Darkness pressed in on Jack from all sides and he was reminded sickeningly of Pitch’s ‘transportation method’. Creating his own breeze, he drifted down until his feet touched a hard floor some distance below. Up above, the circle of grey sky seemed small. A light flickered on with a click to his right.

Wavering shadows from the glow of an oil lamp threw Pitch’s face into sharp relief. “Welcome to my sanctuary” he said with an elegant gesture.

It took Jack a moment to adjust to the light as he blinked rapidly. He was in a high ceilinged cave, the walls smooth and gently curving. One wall was covered in dark floor to ceiling book shelves. Old leather tomes lined the shelves in an array of faded color. A thick rug covered half the floor, woven in blacks and reds. Beside the shelves sat a dignified ox-blood leather arm chair. Pitch walked around the room lighting tall pillar candles. They filled the air with the fragrance of cinnamon and nutmeg. The spice was reminisce of Pitch and Jack realized it was from the candles that the scent had originated. A four poster bed crafted from the same dark wood as the book shelves rested in one corner. Swaths of satiny fabric draped the carved structure in a canopy of black. At the opposite end of the room was a small kitchen complete with wood stove, a slim chimney pipe snaked up to the surface.

“How on earth did you manage to get all of these things down here...For that matter, how did this place even come to exist?” Jack said, turning about.

Pitch paused at a candle “I have an affinity for the dark, hidden places of the world…This cave was already here, I simply found it and made it livable. As for the furniture, it got here the same way as you and I”. He made a gesture toward the ceiling and the small circle of sky disappeared.

“Speaking of, why were we riding that infernal bike around if you can transport us anywhere?”

“When I’m working a case where the human police are involved it’s best to have an accountable explanation for my whereabouts. It wouldn’t due to have them discover I’d traversed hundreds of miles in a matter of seconds”.

Jack crossed his arms. “I think you just like riding that death machine”.

Pitch grinned a little. “And you didn’t?”

“Maybe, when I wasn’t holding on for dear life”.

“So you say”.

With an eye roll Jack leaned against the book shelf. Being near the fabric and leather clad volumes was oddly comforting. He was tired, but still mad as all hell. So much had happened in the span of an hour. “Someone wants me dead. They destroyed my home and killed my cat. Why?”

“It could have something to do with the removal of the magic hiding your true appearance and stifling your powers. Or maybe the recent contact you’ve had with the fey. Either way, someone who wants you gone has become aware of your existence. Jack, this probably has something to do with your parentage. I suspected it before, but now I’m almost certain. Whoever placed you in the human world did so for your protection”.

“Whatever reason I was placed here…I can’t hide anymore. I’m so sick of being hurt and afraid, of having things that matter taken away. My father abused me because of what I am and I took it. For years. Now someone wants me gone because of who I am. This time I’m not going to wait around. It’s my turn”. Jack dug his nails into his jean-clad legs. He wanted to fly up and out of the cave and find his tormentor that instant and he wanted to hurt them.

“You have no idea how much I want to tear every person to have caused you harm apart limb by limb”. Pitch paced around the room, arms folded behind his back and expression dark. “However, racing away to throw yourself at an enemy you have no knowledge of is foolish”. He spun to face Jack. “You still don’t understand how powerful these people are. They will obliterate you without a second thought if it suits their purposes. If they want information they will torture you for it. Understand?”

Jack felt a shiver run up his spine. Pitch was afraid.

Pitch smiled mirthlessly. “That’s more like it, sometimes a little fear is healthy”.

Jack gripped his forearms. “I might be afraid, but I’m still going to hunt whoever did it down. If I go out in the open I’ll just have to wait until they come for me. Even if it takes an arctic storm I’ll have my answers and retribution”. The vengeful fury inside him rejoiced at the thought.

Pitch froze for a moment, an appalled look on his face.

So quickly that Jack almost didn’t see him move, Pitch stood in front of him. A furious expression twisted the older man’s face. With vicious force he slammed his hands against shelf on either side of Jack’s head. It shook and some dust floated into the air. Jack jumped, surprised by the force of Pitch’s ferocity.

“Jack Frost, if I have to tie you to a chair in order to keep you from endangering yourself with your own recklessness I will”.

Jack could tell that Pitch meant every word. Glaring up he said; “You think I can’t get out of a little bit of rope? Just about anything can break if it’s frozen”.

Suddenly, Pitch’s demeanor changed. His mouth slanted into wicked smirk and the gold of his eyes caught ablaze. The expression was just a little bit evil and it made Jack’s stomach drop.

“Hhmmm, I see…Then I think a distraction is in order. One that will leave you unable to move”.

Jack choked. “I-I’m still healing”.

Pitch’s smile only widened. “Oh, don’t think I have noticed how fast you’re healing. That wound was already closing up this morning and you haven’t mentioned any pain for hours”. He leaned closer and the two of them shared a breath.

Jack’s brain was going fuzzy. He gripped the shelf behind him hard enough to turn his fingers white. For a long moment he teetered on the edge between acting on his vindictive hatred and giving in to the oblivion Pitch offered. It was too hard to think with Pitch so close. Releasing his hold on the shelf, he tried to duck out from under his confinements.

With a growl, Pitch grabbed Jack’s wrists and pushed him back against the shelf. “You’re not going anywhere”.

Jack opened his mouth to protest, but Pitch sealed their lips together before he could utter a sound. It was a rough kiss, mouths crushed together and tongue sliding over teeth. He strained against Pitch’s hold, but it was useless. His knees were already going weak under the onslaught. Pitch pressed closer until they were flush against one another. Jack’s head bumped the shelving as it tilted back. Releasing one wrist, Pitch slid his hand into Jack’s hair, tugging the silvery strands. Fingers clenching and unclenching, Jack couldn’t keep a hold on his intentions. The fingertips against his scalp were burning points of heat. An involuntary sound escaped him as Pitch bit his lip.

Pitch pulled back a little, his eyes were dancing. “Much better”.

Jack’s chest rose and fell quickly. Most of his weight rested against the shelf and it was through sheer force of will that he hadn’t begun to slide toward the floor. Before he realized what was happening, Pitch had undone all the buttons on his jacket and was tugging it down his arms.

Without looking, Pitch threw Jack’s coat onto the leather chair along with his own. In one fluid movement he hooked his foot around Jack’s ankle and pulled it out from under him.

Jack exhaled in surprise as Pitch caught him. “Hey!” he kicked out, having gained back a little of his composure.

“Shut up” Pitch said mildly. He strode across the room and tossed Jack onto the bed.

A slight twinge came from his lower back as he landed and a gasp of air was driven from his lungs. Jack pushed himself onto his elbows, prepared to roll off the bed. Pitch was already straddling his hips. “We can’t do this right now! I have to-”

“Oh yes, we can. That’s the thing about being immortal, there’s always plenty of time”. Pitch slid a hand under Jack’s t-shirt.

This one read; ‘I’d Rather Be Reading’ in spidery script on grey-blue cotton.

“You have way too many book related shirts”. Slowly, pitch ripped it from hem to neck and let the ruined shirt fall to the floor.

“What the hell?! Quite destroying my shirts!” Jack tried to maneuver his leg around Pitch’s in order to shift their positions, but Pitch simply pressed him harder into the silky black sheets.

“As I recall it was your blood that ruined the last two, but I’m happy to take credit for this one”. Pitch said while making slow circular strokes on Jack’s rib cage.

Jack shuddered. He put his hands on Pitch’s chest, intent on shoving him away, but Pitch claimed his mouth again. It was slow and intense this time, hot tongue pushing and curling around his own, gently sucking and fingers still tracing those damnably distracting patterns. Without meaning to, he gripped the fabric of Pitch’s shirt rather than pushing him away. Teeth grazed the side of his jaw and he pressed his head back against the pillows. A groan escaped him when Pitch bit a spot on his neck that was already colored by a mark from the day before. Lifting his head, Pitch put his lips right next to Jack’s ear, breathe tickling.

“You’re all mine, Jack Frost”.

Jack felt the shudder down to his core. His heart ached. The way Pitch murmured his name so softly in that seductive velvet voice. It was irresistible. He could feel his desires shifting. Not in his entire life had he felt the way he did when he was with Pitch. Maybe this was exactly what his fractured soul needed. To place himself in the hands of someone else. Someone he... “I trust you” Jack whispered, throat tight.

Pitch stopped breathing and pulled back, his face inches from Jack’s. “What?”

Jack swallowed. “I. Trust. You.” He said again, looking into those hypnotic golden eyes.

Pitch’s expression was raw. Very slowly he smiled and lightly traced a finger over Jack’s lips. “I hear you”. He tugged his own shirt over his head and let his glamour fall away to reveal his fey attributes. There were several shiny scars across his ribs and his abs stood out in slight relief.

Jack could see the rise and fall of Pitch’s chest, almost hear the pounding of his heart. He could feel his own racing. There was a zipping noise as his jeans were undone. Lifting his hips, he allowed Pitch to slide the fabric down his legs. Removing his own black slacks, Pitch tossed them to the side.

Without allowing his full weight to rest on Jack, Pitch leaned forward, pressing their mouths together. Jack inhaled as Pitch bit his lip just hard enough to cause a pleasurable sort of pain and inexorably wrapped his arms around Pitch’s bare middle, hands exploring the scars there. A low growl came from deep within Pitch’s throat and he shifted, causing their hips to grind together. A shudder ran through Jack’s body. His breath was beginning to freeze, but he couldn’t stop it. Pitch breathed it in and broke their contact long enough to exhale icily. They stilled. Blue irises becoming ensnared in molten gold pools so deep that Jack felt he could see Pitch’s soul. The beauty and darkness and intensity there stole his breath away.

Jack closed his eyes, it was too intense. He felt Pitch push his bangs back and kiss his forehead with all the lightness of a snowflake. The soft scent of evening rain enveloped him as silken black strands brushed his face. There was such a tenderness to the gesture that an uncontrollable shiver ran through his body. Pitch tasted the curve of his shoulder, teeth grazing pale flash before repossessing his lips in a soul aching kiss. It was possessive and deep, tongues sliding and lips moving roughly. He gasped again as Pitch ground against him. Even with the fabric barriers, the contact was enough to leave Jack panting, nails digging into silver flesh.

“Pitch..I-I need to tell you something” Jack managed to say breathlessly.

“Yes?” An impish smile graced Pitch’s face and he didn’t stop the torturous motion.

“Mmmm…I…I’ve never...uh…been with anyone before”.

Pitch stopped moving and Jack tried not to squirm, his nerve endings were all alight, screaming for Pitch to resume. “I know” Pitch said, eyes shining.

Jack blushed blue. “I just hadn’t really said it…and thought it would be a good idea before we…”

“Make love?”

Jack nodded, face practically glowing. “I know this isn’t new for you…”

“Jack, really. I have had sex, yes. Most of the time there weren’t a lot of feelings attached and after a while that can make you feel kind of hollow…It’s not that way with us. I care for you, you and no one else”.

“Oh…”

Pitch sighed, his face softening “If you’re worried about it being painful, I can be gentle”.

“No…Just…I wanted to make sure you knew”.

With a soft caress to Jack’s check Pitch said “It doesn’t make a difference to me, I accepted you as you are from the first moment I took your hand…But…I won’t lie and say that that it doesn’t bring me immense pleasure to be your first”.

Jack pulled Pitch toward him and pressed a light kiss to the older immortal’s lips, hands shaking. Smiling against Jack’s mouth after a moment’s surprise, Pitch took the invitation. Closing his eyes again, Jack tried to breathe as Pitch trailed his mouth down to suck on one nipple and then the other. Back arching, Jack twisted his fingers into satiny black strands as Pitch licked his way across his sternum, leaving a trail of marks.

Reaching the dark blue boxers, Pitch slid a hand slowly up Jack’s inner thigh. Lightly, he cupped Jack between warm fingers, eliciting a sharp inhale. Lowering his head, he used the tip of his tongue to trace Jack through the fabric, the motion slow and torturous.

Head tilted back and spine curling, Jack bit his lip, small sounds escaping him. It was almost too hot, but the nearly-painful heat only served to push him further. His hips jerked involuntarily upward. With every kiss, every touch, every gasp he felt he belonged more to Pitch.

Sucking gently, Pitch quickly brought Jack to the edge with skillful pressure, thumbs tracing circles over slender hip bones.

One hand gripping Pitch’s shoulder hard enough to bruise and the other tangled in the sheets Jack bit his lip. “Pitch…I don’t want…Not without you”.

Pitch stopped his ministrations, causing Jack to whimper at the loss of contact. “Hold on” he said, voice low. He slid the boxers off.

Before Jack had time to feel embarrassed about his exposed state, Pitch licked long burning stripes from base to tip of him. “Fuck!” he gasped, teeth clenched and tremors wracking his body.

“Not yet”. Pitch said, stopping only long enough to get a tube from the chest at the end of the bed.

Jack lay squirming. Pitch let his black briefs fall to the floor before resuming his kneeling position over Jack’s legs. Methodically, he squeezed a dollop of clear liquid from the tube. A moment of panic overtook Jack when he noticed how well-endowed Pitch was. Would he actually fit…?

Pitch suddenly smirked at him as if he knew what Jack what Jack was thinking. “Don’t worry, I’m going to take good care of you”.

Jack let out a short groan. “I’m not sure if the fear reading thing is convenient or a disadvantage right now”.

“I certainly wouldn’t say it’s a disadvantage” Pitch said with a laugh low in his throat. He slicked the lube over himself before capturing Jack’s mouth in hungry kiss.

Jack tasted the almost-sweet, cold flavor of himself faintly on Pitch’s tongue. Pitch grasped Jack’s hand in his own and lowered it to wrap around his slick erection. Jack couldn’t help but gasp against Pitch’s mouth, the heat was incredible and Pitch was nearly as hard as he was.

“That’s because of you” Pitch whispered into Jack’s ear.

The words sent a tremor through Jack and he squeezed lightly, causing Pitch to inhale. It was a heady feeling.

Gently, Pitch took Jack’s hand, pressing a kiss to cool fingertips. Making small caresses, he pushed the younger’s legs apart. Marking the snowy thigh with a bite before running his tongue over indentations. The sting and the heat caused Jack to whimper and Pitch to let out a breathy chuckle. His slicked fingers slid to circle Jack’s entrance, causing Jack to jerk at the foreign sensation.

“Try to relax” Pitch breathed, continuing the motion.

Slowly, Jack unclenched and his insides began to curl pleasantly. Just when he’d adjusted to the contact Pitch slipped a finger inside.

“Uhhn!” Jack cried. He didn’t have time to relax before Pitch began to move, slowly swirling and stretching. It was impossible to stop moving under the onslaught, limbs sliding over damp skin and satiny sheets.

Hooking an arm under one of Jack’s legs, Pitch finger-fucked him deeper and leaned over to trace the rim of Jack’s ear with his tongue before drawing the lobe into his mouth and sucking. Jack was hard as hell and writhing. He wanted… “Piitch!” he moaned as another finger joined the first.

“Yesss?” Pitch hissed, sinking his teeth into the lobe and moving his hand a little bit faster.

“Please…I can’t…I want-” he panted out the words, stubbornness beginning to break.

“What?” Pitch said wickedly against Jack’s ear in that low irresistible voice.

“Errrg!” Jack almost sobbed. He was so close, but not close enough. “Y-you-”

“Hmmm?” Pitch lightly scratched his nails over Jack’s thigh.

It was too much. Jack exhaled and pressed his palm to Pitch’s chest. Feeling an immortal heart beat between his fingers, racing for him, he found the words. They left him in a soft murmur. “Make me yours”.

Pitch pulled out and brought his mouth to Jack’s for a tender kiss before hovering for a moment, gold eyes on blue. “As you wish”. Squeezing a little more lube onto his fingers, Pitch pushed a slippery finger back inside, slicking Jack’s entrance.

And then Pitch’s finger was gone and something thicker was pressing against him. Something bigger than a digit. Jack was quivering, he pulled in a breath and tried not to tense up even though his stomach was tied into knots. Pitch gradually pushed the head of himself inside, one arm wrapped around Jack’s leg, holding his weight. The other weaving through Jack’s hair to tip his head back for a deep kiss, tongues sliding together and teeth catching on lips.

Jack cried out against Pitch’s mouth when the thick length pushed a little deeper. Pitch burned, thawing the cold and heating his insides. He tried to breathe through the searing pressure.

A low groan issued from Pitch’s throat. He eased back just a little and pressed in again.

Jack started to tense, but Pitch slid a hand over his ass and massaged the muscle there, relaxing it. He wasn’t sure if he wanted Pitch to drive into him, pain beside, or continue with the excruciatingly slow pace. Languidly, Pitch filled him bit by bit. By the time he was fully sheathed Jack could scarcely breathe and Pitch’s exhales heated the air against his cheek.

Pitch began to move just when Jack had acclimated to the fullness. “Uh! Holy!” Jack swore several more times as Pitch slowly slid out and pushed in. A part of him wanted more. The part that rode night winds under glittering skies and summoned storms of snow and ice. The wild, dangerous part that liked a little pain along with the pleasure and jumped before looking.

He rocked his hips upward and rose onto one elbow, biting hard into Pitch’s shoulder. Pitch gasped and growled in approval, hand fisting in Jack’s hair. His firm strokes deepened as he moved faster. All words had deserted Jack, he was drowning in the sensation. A throbbing ache was building within him and he heard himself cry out with each thrust, unable to muffle the sound.

Pine and cinnamon filled the air along with their natural scents in the flickering light. Pitch thrust over and over, rocking their bodies together in a sensual rhythm. Jack’s finger nails scratched lined down Pitch back, but that only seemed to push Pitch further. Wrapping his fingers around Jack, Pitch stroked him with firm pressure, the tempo matching their movements. Jack was shaking, so close to release. The blaze inside of him built to new heights, licking at his insides like tongues of flame.

“Pitch!”

“Now!” Pitch moved his hand up Jack in one last hard stroke, thrusting deep.

Jack made a strangled sound as he came. Heat scorched up his insides as Pitch found his release at the same time, a low moan escaping him.

Resting his forehead against Jack’s, Pitch matched their breathing as the last of the shudders died away. Carefully, he pulled out, drawing a soft pained sound from Jack.

“Sshhhh” Pitch comforted, thumbs rubbing slow circles over the younger’s hips. Snagging the ripped t-shirt, he cleaned them both before falling onto the pillows beside Jack, hair slightly damp with sweat. Turning to the side, he faced Jack and gently took hold of his chin, kissing him softly. Pulling back a little he wrapped his free arm around the younger immortal.

Skin to skin, Jack could feel both of their hearts madly beating. He slipped his arm under Pitch’s and wrapped it around the older’s waist. For several minutes they simply lay there catching their breaths. Jack couldn’t find a word and he felt like melting right through the sheets. Swallowing, he felt moisture on his cheeks. Was he crying?

Pitch frowned slightly and moved to wipe the tears away “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“Ugh, err” Jack tried to get his emotions under control. “No…No, you didn’t…It was-”

“Incredible?”

Jack choked on a half laugh. “Well, yes…I think…It was the single most lovely moment of my life…I haven’t been close to anyone in a really long time…and you…You make my heart hurt, a good kind of hurt, when I haven’t felt anything more than loneliness for so, so long”. Jack dared to meet Pitch’s eyes. His soul felt raw.

Pitch’s mouth hung open just a little bit. Slowly, his lips curved into a smile and his eyes were glowing. One finger gently trailing down Jack’s cheek he said; “I’m over three centuries old and you manage to astonish me. You’re beautiful and that has to be one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever heard and we aren’t so different because my heart aches for you too”.

Jack closed his eyes and felt a last tear escape, Pitch’s words sank into his being like water after a drought. “Thank you”.

“Hmm, What for?” Pitch asked, slowly stroking his hair.

“For not giving up on me”.

Pitch pulled Jack against him, tucking the silvery head under his chin. “I saw someone worth waiting for”.

Jack smiled, held Pitch tighter and drifted off to sleep.

~

Hours later Jack woke to the whistle of a tea kettle. With a groan, he rolled over and blinked blearily. He tried to sit up, but collapsed back onto the bed, sore as all hell.

“I would stay put, I meant it when I said you wouldn’t be able to move” Pitch said, carrying over two green-glazed mugs of tea and sliding onto the bed.

Jack made a muffled sound into the pillow before turning over and accepting the mug. He felt suddenly awkward, all of the things they’d done flashing through his mind. A cool blush rose to his face and he hid while taking a sip. It was earl grey, creamy and sweet. When he lowered the cup, Pitch was staring at him over the rim of his mug, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Um” Jack said, trying not to choke on his tea.

Pitch snorted “You’re way too easy to unnerve”.

Jack frowned at him, running a hand through his mussed hair. “Well sorry, what am I supposed to do when you’re staring at me like that?”

“Exactly what you are doing, you’re quite charming when you’re uncomfortable”.

“Humph”. Jack pulled the sheets down around his waist and aimed a kick at Pitch who caught his foot and dug his thumb in with precision. “I…I’ll get you one of these days”. He groaned as Pitch worked into the muscle.

“You’ll have to try a little harder” Pitch said, laughing again.

“If someone hadn’t pounded me into the bed” Jack replied, face impish.

“Well, I seem to remember someone asking for it” Pitch shot back without skipping a beat.

“Touché”. Jack sighed as Pitch took his other foot and kneaded it between his deft fingers. He felt a little warm, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It felt good to simply soak in the moment. “Hey…What are we anyways…you know, how would you classify our relationship?”

Pitch paused in his ministrations “What, you want me to ask you to go steady?” he teased.

Jack rolled his eyes. “Old man”.

Setting his mug down, Pitch leaned over Jack and kissed him hard enough to make his slightly-swollen lips sting, the flavor of bergamot heavy on their tongues.

“Say that again?”

“Ok, ok. You win this one” Jack gasped out.

Pitch leaned back against the foot of the bed, a self-satisfied expression on his face.

It was a miracle that Jack hadn’t sloshed the last half of his earl grey. “You know, you didn't answer my question”.

Pitch tilted his chin down, regarding Jack with his auric stare. “I think we established that we’re lovers…Would the term boyfriend make you happy? I’ve always found it a bit silly. Especially considering that we’re not even human. Nor do I like being classified as a ‘boy’”.

“How about old man friend, then?” Jack asked, unable to resist.

With a glare that spoke of swift retribution, Pitch raked his nails up Jack’s foot, causing Jack to snort and a bit of tea to dribble from his nose. “That wasn’t very nice!” He said, wiping at his face.

With an innocent look, Pitch sipped his beverage. “I wouldn’t say it again, kiddo”.

“You’re the one acting like an adolescent” Jack told him, withdrawing his legs in case of future attack.

“Maybe I’m just in a good mood…Lover”.

Jack couldn’t help but smile. “I guess that one’s ok”.

“Definitely. Last night was the first of many”. Pitch’s eyes smoldered.

Jack’s chest tightened at the promise in Pitch’s words. “…Is it really morning?”

Pitch nodded, stretching languidly. He wore a long, loose black robe. “I thought I’d let you sleep”.

“Pitch…You know I still have to deal with whoever wrecked my shop. Something tells me they’re not going to give up just because I wasn’t there”.

Sighing, Pitch closed his eyes. “We’ll have to get you a weapon”.

Sitting up, Jack stared at Pitch. “Really?”

“You need something to help channel all of that power if we’re going to fight…Don’t get so enthusiastic, it might take a while to find them. We’re going to do it right, WITHOUT blindly rushing around in a manner that will get us both killed, ok?”

Jack nodded. He liked the idea of having a weapon.

“I have a couple of contacts under the hill, inside the winter court. If we’re careful we just may be able to discover the identity the identity of the fey without them knowing we’re looking”.

“Under the hill…?”

“…Sometimes I forget how little you know about the fey world…Hmmm, have you ever read any Irish or Gaelic folklore? Age upon age ago, tales of the fey or fair folk began when humans were led into or stumbled upon the veil between dimensions. On one side the human world, on the other the fey. Some fey can’t access this dimension or ‘realm’ on their own and rely on gateways or tears between the fabrics of this reality and the next. To a human, these gateways might look like doorways. The Irish saw them as gateways in hillsides and they came to call us ‘people of the mounds’ or ‘folk under the hill’. Somewhere along the way we adopted the term ‘under the hill’ to refer to the realm.

“I see…I think I may have read something on it in the past…And the winter court?”

Pitch’s face scrunched a little. “The fey are divided into two monarchies; the winter court and the summer court. Also known as the dark court and the light court. Our abilities tend to be hereditary and families are almost always either winter or summer. Occasionally a rebel youth will change courts, but the occurrence is fairly rare. A ceremony takes place when a fey reaches adulthood to choose between the two”.

“Which one are you?” Jack asked, absorbing the information.

“Technically I’m a member of the winter court…but I’ve stayed away for the past hundred years or so”.

“Why?” Jack had always wondered what Pitch’s reasons were for dwelling in the human realm.

Pitch closed his eyes, a look of ancient sadness on his face. “…My daughter died”.


	9. Blizzard and Staff

“Wai…What!?” Jack’s mind was boggled. Pitch had a daughter? 

“Is it so surprising? I’ve lived a lot of life times and one of them included a child…But that was a long time ago. When I was a different person”. 

“Well…You just kind of sprang it on me. How did she…you know?” 

Pitch pursed his lips and went to the chest at the end of the bed. He came back a moment later and sat across from Jack again, holding something in his fist. Slowly uncurling his fingers he revealed a locket carved with odd symbols. “Do you want to see what she looked like?” 

Jack nodded and held out his hand. 

Very Carefully Pitch placed the locket in Jack’s palm, letting the long silver chain pool beside it. 

Gently, Jack unclasped the release on the bottom. There was a tiny painted portrait of a young girl inside. She looked to be about twelve with the same silvery skin as Pitch and long rippling black hair. Rather than gold, her eyes were the bright green of growing things and her features were dainty versions of Pitch’s. “She looks just like you…She’s beautiful”. 

Pitch smiled sadly. “Emily. She was very much like me. A little too much. Too brave and too headstrong…My family, the Pitchiners, have worked closely beside the kings, queens and other royals of the winter court for over a millennia as protectors and advisors. Her mother suffice it to say, was one of the wild fey and our relationship didn’t last. When Emily was born she bequeathed her care to me. What I thought would be a burden turned into the most joyful part of my life. Like her mother, she had an affinity for plant life. Flowers bloomed under her touch”. Pitch looked faraway, submerged in his memories. “My duties often took me away from home, leaving her with the household servants. I hated to do so, but it was necessary. The winter and summer fey were often in disagreement over things like land rights and when one season should end and the next begin. Always vying for the most power. With my assistance, a treaty between the two was under formation. On a day I was meant to spend with her, I was called away to the court. I told Emily I would be back to spend the next with her. I promised. When I came home all of the servants were dead…and so was she, a dagger in her hand…So badly she’d wanted to be like me, a warrior and I’d already begun to teach her. Those of the Pitchiner family are paired with a royal and she was my heir. When the king’s son, already an adult at the time, became the king, she would have been his right hand. There were traces of summer fey magic on the bodies. Scorch marks like those at your shop. In her hand was a note, left by the murderer. I said something like; ‘It should have been you. Stop the treaty or it will be’…I’m afraid I went quite mad for a time.” 

“Oh my god, Pitch…I’m so sorry” Jack said, feeling his heart break for Pitch’s loss. Reaching out, he took Pitch’s hand, twining his fingers through it. It was too easy to imagine Pitch finding the ruined body of his daughter, imagine him gathering her into his arms and rocking her lifeless form as he howled in anguish. It was easy because he’d experienced something similar the day before, although he didn’t feel a pet could be compared to a child. “Wait…scorch marks? It couldn’t have been the same person?”   
Pitch shook his head. “The chances are very slim. Many of the summer fey can manipulate heat or fire, it’s not an unusual ability”. Still, he frowned slightly, mulling the idea over. 

“What did you do after…?” 

“Something I will regret for the rest of my life…I knew it was a summer fey. The marks were obvious. I knew the names of every summer fey to have argued the treaty. Nobles of the summer court…There must have been a dozen of them at least. Sometimes it’s hard to remember, I wasn’t in my right mind. Crossing the border into the summer lands, I hunted each and every one of them down…and tortured all of them until I found the man responsible…I killed him, slowly”. 

Jack sat, agape. Pitch, who went out of his way to protect people, torturing and killing? 

Pitch’s face wasn’t pleading. It wasn’t sad. There was a deadness to it, as if the deed had destroyed a piece of his soul. He didn’t grip Jack’s fingers back, as if to give him a chance to let go. 

Jack remembered how he’d felt the day before, ready to recklessly go out and destroy the source of his torment. “…This person broke into your home and killed your child. I don’t think your reaction is so unreasonable…And as far as I can tell you’ve been torturing yourself over this for decades and trying to make up for it just as long. I don’t understand, why?” 

Pitch was quiet for a long moment. “I was a nobleman, the right hand of the king. By harming the leading dignitaries of the summer court any chance of the treaty passing disappeared. I broke the laws of our kind and shamed myself…I couldn’t return home, couldn’t face my king…Worst of all, I wasn’t there to protect her”. He whispered the last sentence, pain coloring his voice. 

“Damn the rules. Is anyone reasonable when it comes to the death of a loved one? No. You didn’t seek to ruin this treaty, they did. And it worked. It wasn’t your fault, Pitch…I think she would have told you that too”. 

Pitch smiled just a little. “Yes, she probably would, but I still can’t help but feel the way I do...It’s been too long and the pain was too deep. It’s a part of who I am, just as mistrust and loneliness will always be a part of you”. 

“Don’t we make a dismal pair” Jack said, matching Pitch’s expression. Carefully, he handed the locket back. 

“That we do”. Pitch put the locket back in its place with a sigh. 

They shared a silent moment, finishing the last of their cooling tea. 

“So, when are we leaving?” Jack asked. 

“I finish telling you that I’m basically banished from the realm, not to mention the fact that there are a number of fey there that would like nothing better than to kill me and you’re still ready to jump into the figurative rabbit hole?” 

“Yes, but I commend you on your Wonderland simile” Jack said, resting his chin in his hands. 

Pitch half smiled “I suppose that makes me the white rabbit. Lovely” 

Jack grinned. “Don’t go getting any ideas, I’m so not wearing a blue dress”. 

“But you looked so delicious in that Kilt, a shame I wasn’t able to remove it myself”. 

Jack felt the blood rise to his face. “Speaking of clothes…” he glanced at his ruined shirt in the corner. 

“Always changing the subject…I will admit that I owe you a shirt. Considering where we’re going, it would probably be best to dress the part and there’s still the little detail of finding you a weapon. I think it’s about time we visit Gabriel”. 

“Who’s that?” 

“He’s a buyer and seller of fey items who dwells in the human realm”. 

“Kind of like a pawn shop?” 

“Yes, very much like a pawn shop”. 

“And it’s safe for us to go?” 

“It should be. He’s an odd being, but many of his wares are of a delicate nature and he’s predisposition not to let anything unnecessary slip”. 

“I see”. 

“If we’re to do this today, perhaps we best clean up first. Some breakfast is in order as well, I think”. 

Jack felt faintly sticky after the night before and getting clean suddenly sounded wonderful. As did breakfast. His stomach growled in agreement. 

“I guess that’s a yes on the breakfast”. 

“Definitely”. 

Pitch slid off the bed in a silky billow and headed for the tiny kitchen. 

Jack looked around for something to wrap himself in. His clothes from the day before were not an option. Swinging his legs out of bed he let out a groan. Everything was sore. He picked up Pitch’s slightly crumpled shirt. It was the long button down kind with tails in the front and back. Slipping it on, he rolled the sleeves up a little. The black fabric reached to the middle of his thighs. Crossing the floor at a hobble, he sat on a stool behind the kitchen island, slumping against the counter. 

Pitch was pouring water into a small pot and stopped his movements to glance up at Jack. “You’re wearing my shirt”. 

“Yeah…Did you want me to take it off or something?” Jack asked, fiddling with a button. 

“No…It’s kind of sexy” Pitch said, grinning. He hung the pot over the already crackling stove. 

Jack hid a smile of his own and breathed in the scent of the shirt’s collar when Pitch’s back was turned. It had the dark cinnamon and night-time smell that he now associated with Pitch. 

“Coffee?” Pitch asked, almost catching Jack in the act. 

“Uh, yes please”. 

“Are you blushing?” Pitch asked, eyeing him speculatively. He poured hot water into a french press. 

“…I’m just a little warm” Jack said, looking sideways. 

“Oh, because I thought it might have something to do with you burying your face in the collar of my shirt”. 

Jack hid his face in his arms. “Mmmff”. 

Pitch laughed behind closed lips. “Don’t be embarrassed, I thought it was adorable”. 

Jack peeked over the tops of his arms “I swear, sometimes I think you’re a mind reader”. 

“No, just very perceptive”. 

“A little too perceptive” Jack narrowed his eyes at the other man. 

“Maybe you’re just not sneaky enough”. 

“Sneaky is my middle name. I’ll get you one of these days”. 

“Jack, I’m a being of the shadows, if you make it goal to catch me unawares you’re going to be trying for an awful long time”. 

“We’ll see”. 

Pitch snorted. “Besides, you’ve managed to scare me more in the last week than anyone has for several decades”. 

Jack sobered. “I guess I kind of understand why you reacted the way you did after hearing…you know”. 

“Just don’t ever think about running off like that again or I’ll find something to tie you up with that doesn’t freeze”. 

“I already told you I’d do it your way, don’t go freaking out on me again. I won’t be going anywhere fast today, let me tell you” Jack glared at Pitch. 

Pitch smirked at him. “That was the idea…How’s your back doing by the way?” 

“I haven’t thought about it much, actually”. He reached a hand back and ran it over his skin. There wasn’t even much of a scab left, just a raised lump. “Wow, I think it’s almost healed…Crap, the stitches are still there”. 

“I can take them out”. 

Jack looked at him skeptically. “Are you sure that’s wise?” 

“I am perfectly able to snip a few threads and pull them out. I’ve had to do more than a few sets of my own stitches before”. 

“Ouch”. 

“It’s better than bleeding to death”. 

“Well, I’m glad I wasn’t awake for mine, thank you very much”. 

Pitch laughed. “True, I wouldn’t wish it on anyone”. 

A few minutes later they were eating oatmeal and drinking coffee. 

Pitch had slid the sugar toward Jack with an expression that said ‘have at it’. “I’m afraid you’ll have to make do with the sugar, cream spoils too quickly to keep here”. He sat on the stool beside Jack. 

“I’m just happy it’s not eggs”. 

“I don’t have any or it might’ve been”. 

“I refuse to eat yellow rubber”.   
“I suspect someone overcooked your scramble, when made properly they aren’t rubbery”. 

“…My mother tried to cook, but she reduced almost everything to a blackened state”. 

“I suppose I can understand your dislike of them then, but let me assure you that I never burn my food. Except for toast. I like burnt toast” Pitch said thoughtfully. 

Jack laughed and had to hit his chest with a fist as a swallow of oatmeal went down wrong. “You are so weird. Charcoal isn’t a healthy you know”. 

“But it tastes good with butter”. 

Jack shook his head in amusement. “If you say so”. 

Despite its simplicity breakfast was good. The food and coffee reenergized Jack and his sluggish blood began to circulate again. 

“You mentioned getting clean, but I’m going to take a guess and say there’s not a shower hiding down here?” 

“No, I’m not quite that resourceful. There’s a hot spring a couple miles from here we can visit. I believe I’m the only one who knows of its existence”. 

“Uh…you know, me and heat don’t exactly mix well”. 

“I’m aware”. Pitch retrieved a couple of towels. 

“Well, how do you-” 

Pitch turned around and grabbed Jack’s hand before turning into the shadows. 

Jack stood gasping. The dark compression had only lasted a second or two, but it left him feeling just as unsettled as the last time. They were at the top of a slope covered in snow. Steaming water bubbled out of a hole in the ground and into a pool. The excess flowed over the front and into another pool a foot or so below. Like steps, there were eight pools in all, water pouring over each until it reached a small stream at the bottom. 

“By the time the water makes it down to the last pool it fairly cool” Pitch informed him as if he hadn’t done anything. 

Slowly, Jack turned away from Pitch, kneeled and began to scrape a handful of snow together. 

“Are you alright?” Pitch asked, stepping toward him. 

Keeping his back to Pitch, he stood stiffly. 

“Jack?” 

In the blink of an eye, Jack Spun on his heel and lobbed the snowball. 

It hit Pitch in the middle of the forehead with a resounding splat. Without waiting to see Pitch’s reaction he yanked the shirt over his head and floated to the bottom of the hill on a gust. Slipping into the cool, turquoise water, he looked up, eyes just above the surface. The water was maybe five feet deep and clay heavy mud squidged between his toes. 

Still standing in the same spot, Pitch was looking at him, face comically surprised and bits of pulverized snowball falling from his fore head. Slowly, his eyes narrowed the way they did when he was plotting retribution. 

“Hey, you started it!” Jack called up to him, moving to the back of the pool. 

Pitch slid down the hill on his heel and stood looking over Jack, his expression inscrutable. “You are so very lucky that you’re already sore”. There was a dark grey spot on his forehead. 

“You had it coming.” Jack informed him without regret. “You can’t just go around transporting people without permission”. 

“I didn’t realize you were so delicate”. 

“I didn’t think sneak attacks worked on you”. 

“I won’t be so careless as to let my guard down in the future, I hope you enjoyed your one and only success”. 

“Why don’t you get in here and I can continue to enjoy it by admiring that bruise”. 

Pitch leaned down and flicked Jack right in the middle of his forehead. Hard. 

“Ouch!” Jack rubbed at the spot. 

The water rose slightly as Pitch slid into the pool across from him. “Now we match”. 

“Jerk” Jack muttered, giving Pitch a death glare. 

Pitch simply stared back at him, mouth very straight. A few seconds passed before a low laugh escaped him. “Alright, alright, truce”. 

“Fine” Jack said grumpily. 

Still smiling, Pitch reached into the pocket of his robe where it lay beside the pool and pulled out a bar of soap. With a couple of strokes, he stood in front of Jack. “Turn around”. 

Jack crossed his arms. “Why?” 

“So I can wash your back, idiot”. 

With a huff, Jack turned. The smell of spicy soap filled the air as Pitch slid the bar across his skin. Gradually, he relaxed. Sometimes he still tensed if a touch was unexpected, the reflex too deeply ingrained. He shivered slightly when Pitch fingered the marks on his skin and pulled him around to press their lips together in a lingering open mouthed kiss. Jack tried to breathe as Pitch slid the bar of soap down his stomach and past his hips. He was already getting hard. Pitch’s fingers wrapped around him. 

“Goodness, I’ve barely touched you” he breathed into Jack’s ear. He slid his thumb down in one light stroke. 

Jack gripped Pitch’s upper arm, fingers sliding over slick skin. He couldn’t find any sarcasm. 

“Don’t…don’t stop”. His free hand trailed down Pitch’s chest and his fingers curled around Pitch almost hesitantly. 

“Like this” Pitch ran his hand down Jack’s length in a firm stroke. 

Bottom lip between his teeth, Jack copied the movement. He heard Pitch’s tiny intake of breath. 

“Don’t stop” Pitch said softly, repeating Jack’s words. 

Pitch was warm and silky under his touch. Jack’s muscles ached and his forehead fell against Pitch’s shoulder as he let out a low moan. 

“Harder” Pitch whispered, voice catching on a raw note. He gripped Jack’s ass, digging his fingers into the tender muscle. 

Biting Pitch’s shoulder, Jack increased the pressure of his movements. A shudder worked its way through him as he felt the tingling pressure begin to build. If Pitch’s minute clinches were anything to go by, he was getting close. Snow began to fall around them in small cotton-like flakes and their breathing filled the cold, white silence. 

Jack came, hips thrusting into Pitch’s hand and white spots dancing behind his eyelids in phantom images of the snow. His fingers dug into Pitch’s arm as he fought to remain standing. Twice more, he ran his hand down Pitch’s length. Pitch followed him a few seconds later, a shudder running through his frame and a soft sound falling from his lips. 

Pitch kissed the side of Jack’s neck lightly. “You’re a quick learner” he said, voice low. 

“Well, my teacher does seems to be quite skilled…And it’s not as if I haven’t done this alone” Jack said, a little breathless. 

“Hmmm, and how do you do it when you’re alone?” 

Jack shook his head “I’m not going into detail about it” he said, a blush creeping up his face. 

“Perhaps I should go into detail about the pounding I intend to give you when all of this mess is said and done”. 

“Leave it to my imagination, would you?” Jack said, sinking lower into the water. 

Pitch let out a dark chuckle. “I suppose. I hope it’s quite vivid”. He slipped through the water, pulled Jack’s back against his chest and leaned against the snowy ledge. 

Jack sighed and leaned back, he felt like putty and the snarky retort remained lodged in his brain. Instead he said; “Did we just have our first make-up sex?” 

“More of a make-up hand job, but I believe so” Pitch said, slowly tracing the lines of Jack’s chest. 

“Is this going to happen a lot? Because we argue all of the time” Jack said conversationally. 

I’m going to say yes, is that a problem?” Pitch asked him teasingly. 

“I don’t believe it is” Jack said softly. 

“Good, because I plan on us arguing for a long time. Don’t you dare let anything happen to yourself on this little expedition of ours, alright?” 

“I’ll do my best. You be careful too, I’ll be pissed if I don’t get to yell at you later”. 

“Why would you do that?” 

“Because, I’m sure you’ll end up pulling something stupid like you did today”. 

“I think that can probably be arranged”. 

They silently watched the snow for a time, the towering pines their only witness. 

“Hey, I just realized…I’m cold and this water is certainly freezing by any normal standards…It doesn’t bother you?” 

Pitch played with a lock of Jack’s hair. “For one, fey aren’t as sensitive to temperature as humans are. For two, I’m a shadow fey of the winter realm, cold is a non-issue. Heat is uncomfortable, but it doesn’t hurt you as long as it’s not extreme right?”

“Yeah”. 

“There you are”. 

“Would I have been a winter fey?” 

“I believe so, our base powers almost always align with one court or the other. The winter court tends to be home to those of a harsher nature, beings of the deep, dark and cold places. There are a few, like my daughter, that possess something in-between the two. Winter and summer fey have a natural aversion to one another as well, you probably wouldn’t enjoy being around someone who could set you aflame, would you?” 

“I’d say no…Since I was never able to choose a court, what am I now?” 

“Neutral. You can still choose, if there comes a time when it’s safe to do so”. 

“Hmm. If I even want anything to do with the fey”. 

“I can’t make much of an argument as I forsook that world a long time ago, but not all of them are bad”. 

Jack took one of Pitch’s hands. “I know, there’s you”. 

Pitch rested his chin on the top of Jack’s head. “I’m flattered, but I’m not the best example of the usual fey”. 

“Fine by me”. 

Pitch laughed a little and retrieved the soap from where it had ended up on the snow. He worked the suds into Jack’s hair, massaging his fingers into Jack’s scalp. Jack groaned and closed his eyes. Slowly, Pitch soaped down the rest of him, leaving him feeling light as the drifting snow. 

Jack stuck his head under the tiny waterfall descending from the pool above, rinsing his hair. Blinking the water out of his eyes, he looked at Pitch who was working soap through his own silky, black strands, golden eyes hidden behind closed lids. “Let me do your back” Jack said. Pitch handed him the bar and turned. Lean muscle flexed under the silvery skin, the white scars standing out in the daylight. 

“How did you get all of these?” Jack asked running his hands over the marks. 

“Battles, training. Younger days when I wasn’t as skilled at protecting myself”. 

“Some of these look like they should’ve killed you”. 

“A few almost did”. 

They finished and Jack climbed over the edge of the pool and into the icy stream and ducked his head under the water. The snow melt flowed over his skin, recharging him. When he stepped out and onto the top of the snow, he couldn’t find Pitch for a moment. Finally, he spotted him in one of the steaming pools up above. “Finally feeling chilly?” Jack called to him. 

Pitch rose out of the water, rivulets streaming down his bare form. “No, heat does wonderful things for stiff muscles” He tossed Jack a towel and stood drying his hair. 

Jack rubbed the fluffy cloth over his head before wrapping it around himself. Trying not to stare at Pitch who seemed to have no qualms about standing exposed in the middle of the woods. 

Striding down the decline, Pitch stood next to Jack, bare feet half buried in the snow. “Ready?” 

“No, but go ahead”. Pitch wrapped an arm around Jack and spun them both into a shadow stretching from one of the trees. 

Jack had to steady himself against the wall when they arrived. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that”. 

“Can’t be helped, it’s the safest way for us to travel” Pitch said, tossing his towel onto the floor. 

Jack rolled his eyes and wrapped the towel around his waist, fingers brushing over an odd texture on his back. “…Do you think you can take these out, they’re beginning to tug” he asked Pitch, pointing to his stitches. 

Pitch nodded. “Better lay down on the bed”. 

Jack obliged, wet hair falling into his eyes. He felt the bed sink down as Pitch leaned a knee against it. “Is it going to hurt?” he asked, more curious than afraid. 

“It shouldn’t, it looks almost healed”. 

There was a slight ticklish tugging sensation as pitch cut and removed each stitch. 

“All finished”.

“Thanks” 

“Mmhhm…Why do I get the feeling that you’re fond of the scar?” 

“I suppose it just reminds me that I made it through something like that alive…and it’s kind of cool”. 

Pitch shook his head “Just don’t start a collection”. He stood and strode to the wardrobe against one wall. 

Jack found his bag and unzipped it, praying for an article of clean clothing. He was happy to find his grey hoodie and tugged it over his head. Pitch had destroyed his last t-shirt. Tugging on a pair of faded jeans he turned “Don’t you dare ruin this outfit, it’s my last”. 

“Don’t be so dramatic, we do have the ability to get new clothes”. Pitch wore a long, black formal robe. It fitted tight to his arms and descended almost to the tops of his black boots, exposing a strip of silvery chest. His still-damp hair was pushed back in its neat style. 

Jack took it in. The ensemble suited Pitch. “Why are you wearing that?” 

“Blending in, remember?” Pitch said. He went to the chest at the end of the bed and pulled out a quiver full of wicked-sharp black arrows along with a leather case. Inside was a gleaming black crossbow and a set of long, curving knives. Curling characters etched the handles of the blades. Slinging crisscrossing straps across his back, Pitch sheathed the knives over his shoulders and rested the pack containing the cross bow and quiver between his shoulder blades. 

Jack watched him in fascination, feeling slightly jealous. “Are you any good with those?” he asked, indicating the ebony handle peeking over Pitch’s shoulder. 

Pitch grinned at him and moved his hand almost too quickly for Jack to see. 

A thunk came from behind him and he turned to find one of the knives half imbedded in a tiny crack in wall. “Okaaay, very good”. 

“I was a warrior before I was anything else”. 

“Seems like you still are, you’ve just been fighting a different kind of fight”. 

Pitch sighed and retrieved the knife. “Maybe”. 

Jack crammed his hands into the pocket of his hoodie and rocked back on his heels, feet already laced in the boots he’d worn to ride Pitch’s terror of a vehicle. 

“Shall we go?” Pitch asked him, touching the weaponry on his back as if to assure himself that it was still there. 

“Do I need a glamour?” 

“Not where we’re going”. 

“Alright then, I’m ready to get my own sharp and pointy”. 

Pitch snorted “I don’t think a blade is what you need, besides there isn’t enough time for me to teach you how to use it”. 

“Then what is it that I’m supposed to be looking for at this magical pawn shop?”   
“Something to help channel your power…Keep your hands in that pocket when we get there, it’s best not to touch things when they have may remove a finger…or turn you purple”. 

“I’m not a kid, you know…Were you purple?” Jack said, trying not to grin. 

“I’m not discussing it” Pitch said from behind tight lips. He walked around the room and blew the candles out, now stubs of their former selves. Standing by the oil lamp he said; “Come here and take my arm”. 

“Alright, but you’re telling me that story someday”. 

Pitch made a noncommittal sound as Jack grasped his forearm. He turned the flame of the lamp off and they were enveloped in darkness. 

As they turned to move through Pitch’s shadows Jack felt mild regret at having missed the opportunity to read Pitch’s books. 

They emerged in a narrow side alley. Both of them looked from side to side, searching for a sign of threat. There was no one. Cars whizzed by on the street at the far end. 

“Come on” Pitch said quietly, tugging Jack’s hand. They walked past several overfull dumpsters and stopped at the top of a short flight of stairs. At the bottom was a peeling, red door. Faded symbols were scratched into it, like the ones on Pitch’s knives. 

Pitch knocked twice. 

“Whatdaya want?” came a hoarse voice from the other side. 

“It’s me, Gabriel” Pitch replied. 

The door creaked open. A short, swarthy being with green tinged skin, long ears and eyes the color of rust stood inside the door, wearing suspenders over a parchment colored shirt. 

“Ya know I’m not too fond uh being called that. Soft in the ‘ed my mother was for namin uh goblin child after an angel…I thought ya’d be dead for sure by now, Pitchiner”. 

“Well, I’m very much alive as you can see and in need of a few things for my friend here” Pitch said with a gesture to Jack. 

The goblin turned his narrow eyed gaze on Jack. “Whut might yer name be?” 

“…Jack” Jack said, unwilling to give his last name. 

“Ehh, well yuh best come in and shut the door behind yer selves”. 

They followed him inside. The cracked and peeling walls might once have been green, but it was impossible to tell now. Dim light from a dusty chandelier revealed miss matched shelves covered in an assortment of weapons and other unknown items. Several oversized jars held disfigured specimens of some sort in cloudy liquid. Jack could’ve sworn that one of them twitched. He itched to pick up one of the bejeweled swords, but kept his hands tucked into the pocket of his hoodie. Gabriel looked as if he could bite. 

“Whu are ya lookin for than?” 

“Something to help him channel his power and some clothes a bit less…human” Pitch said. 

The goblin sized Jack up. “Whut’s yer core, boy?” 

Jack looked at Pitch, confused. 

“Winter” Pitch replied for him. 

“Not jus ice and snow? Or perhaps a talent for cold winds?”

“All of it” Jack said, finding the question odd. 

“Weeeell now, that tis rare” Gabriel said, staring at him even harder. 

Jack began to feel uncomfortable. 

“Do you have anything?” Pitch said a little impatiently. 

“Clothes’r over there”. Gabriel pointed to a trunk. “I’ma gonna havtuh take a look in thuh back for uh weapon” He shuffled through another doorway muttering “mos unusual” to himself. 

Jack turned to Pitch, brows raised. 

“I know he seems a bit eccentric, but he’ll find us what we need. Not bad for a goblin, really” Pitch whispered. 

“Not as if I have a selection of goblin acquaintances to compare him to” Jack whispered back. 

Pitch rolled his eyes. “Go pick out some clothes”. 

Jack dug through the trunk, discarding several airy gowns and a tunic large enough to clothe a giant. Near the bottom he spotted a piece of dark blue fabric sticking up. With a tug, he pulled it out. The buttery-soft material unfurled and something dark brown dropped out of its center. The shirt was long and a slit ran up the center of the front to allow for a wider range of movement. A deep hood was attached to the rounded neck and the sleeves were narrow. He picked up the item that’s fallen to the floor. It was a pair of leggings made of the same material as the shirt. They both looked to be about his size. “Is this ok?” Jack asked Pitch, holding them up.   
“That’s perfect…I think there’s a bathroom over there if you want to go change”. 

Carrying the bundle, Jack shut the door of the tiny bathroom behind him. Trying not to touch what looked like green mold on one of the walls, he stripped and slipped the garment over his head. It slid over his skin like velvety silk. The hem fell to the middle of his calves and the slit running up the front stopped somewhere around the center of his thighs. Pulling the sleeves down, he discovered holes for his thumbs. Long and slightly pointed, the hood rested between his shoulders. It fit him perfectly, hugging like a second skin. The style somewhere in between Pitch’s robe and the hoodies he favored. He tripped into the leggings and re-laced his boots over the top. Feeling a little self-conscious, he exited the bathroom with his regular clothes in a wad under one arm. 

Gabriel was just returning from the back room, staggering under an armful of weapons. Pitch turned when the door shut behind Jack, his eyes moving slowly up and down the new outfit. 

“It suits you well” Pitch said after clearing his throat a little. 

“You think so?” Jack asked, turning so that the fabric brushed his legs. 

“You look like a fey”. 

“Quit yer gawkin and come over here” Gabriel said to them both. 

Jack and Pitch stood against the counter, looking down at the assortment of weapons. There were swords, spears, knives and a staff made of twisted wood, one end of it hooked. Despite array of blades, Jack was drawn to the staff, it caught his eye and he couldn’t look away. 

“Do yuh feel uh draw to anyuh these?” 

Jack shook his head and touched one of the swords gingerly. It felt wrong under his fingertips. The staff still tugged at him. Unable to resist, he curled his palm around it. Instantly, frost spiraled down the wood and a feeling of rightness enveloped him. “This one” Jack said, a little breathless. 

“Thats been in ma keepin for decades. Once belonged to uh powerful fey of the winter court I was told by the fella tha sold it ta me”. 

“What do we owe you for it?” Pitch asked, snapping Jack out of his revere. 

“I can pay for it” Jack told him with a frown. 

“There’s no need, how much?” Pitch asked Gabriel again. 

The goblin squinted at Pitch. “Fifty gold”. 

Pitch shook his head “That’s far too steep, especially for something you’ve had lying around for half a century”. 

“Welll, if thuh boy pays it’ll cost one blizzard”. 

“Done” Jack said. 

Pitch slumped with a groan. “Jack, I told you I would take care it”. 

The goblin disappeared into the back room again, humming happily to himself. 

“I can take care of myself” Jack said stubbornly. 

Exasperated, Pitch said; “The idea is to bargain, get him to lower the cost, but no, you had to go and agree to the second thing out of his mouth”. 

“Why is a blizzard so bad? I can make one easily enough”. 

“Deals between fey are never that simple and deals struck are always binding”. 

Gabriel returned carrying an ordinary looking bottle in one hand. It was empty. He handed it to Jack. “Put it in here”. 

“What, in the bottle?” 

“Yess” Gabriel said, looking at Jack as if he were stupid. 

“Gabe, that better not harm him, unless you want to find my shadows squeezing your person” Pitch said threateningly. 

“It won’t urt em” the goblin said, un-reassuringly. 

Jack pulled out the cork and gathered his power, directing a small amount of it into the bottle. Like a vacuum, it sucked the ice in. Suddenly, Jack’s energy dropped as a huge surge of icy wind and snow was pulled from him. He took an unsteady step back and tried to release the bottle, but it was stuck to his hand. Pitch grabbed the cork and forced it onto the bottle, effectively stopping the drain on Jack’s power. 

With his arm behind Jack’s shoulders, Pitch slammed the bottle onto the counter. “One blizzard”. A miniature snow storm swirled madly inside the glass confines. 

The goblin looked immensely satisfied. “Thuh staff is yers”. 

“You can throw in the clothes too, after that little stunt”. 

“Sounds fair ta me”.   
Still a little unsteady, Jack allowed Pitch to steer him out of the store and back into the alley. 

“Wait, I left my other clothes on the counter” Jack said, turning to go back inside. 

“Leave them, I might start breaking things if we go back in”. 

“…Fine”. 

“Did you learn your lesson?” Pitch asked, glaring down at him. 

“I didn’t realize he meant to suck it out of me right then and there”. 

“As I’ve tried to explain to you, fey don’t play by any rules beside their own. Unless you get all of the details of the deal stated before the exchange, you’re in deep trouble. It’s lucky he isn’t a particularly malicious fey or he might’ve taken it all”. 

Jack felt a small spike of fear. It had felt horrible to have his power pulled from him involuntarily. 

“The fear is a bit belated, but at least you understand…Are you alright?” 

“I’m ok”. Besides feeling a bit shaken, Jack could already feel his strength returning. He looked at the staff in his hand. It felt like an old friend. Aiming it at the wall, he pushed a small bit of ice through the twisted wood. It shot from the end at high speed and slammed into the bricks, leaving an icy divot. “Whoa!” 

Pitch looked at the staff “See, you didn’t need a sword”. 

“You really just wanted to say ‘I told you so’ didn’t you?” 

“Quite being a smart ass” Pitch said, giving Jack’s new hood a tug. 

Jack poked Pitch with his staff. “Don’t you think we should get out of this alley?” 

“Are you still ready go to the realm today?” Pitch asked, turning serious. 

“I think I’ve been ready for a long time” Jack said, feeling an odd sort of anticipation. He was finally going to the place he’d been born. 

“Brace yourself”. Wrapping his arms around Jack, Pitch turned into the shadows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was kind of a fluffy chapter, but it suited it's purpose. Next one is definitely going to be a bit more intense. Thank you again for the comments and kudos, that stuff really motivates me! :)   
> ~Winterberry 
> 
> Look for the next chapter around the 24th! :D


	10. Blood Rain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Newwww Chapppter! I love finishing a chapter, usually I treat myself to like ten episodes of anime afterward cause I can't read the subs while typing. You are in for one serious cliff hanger (laughs evilly). Sorry, but I think they motivate people to come back and read the next chapter. If anyone is curious about fey folklore and such check out 'Lost Girl'. It's on Netflix and is definitely one of my favorite shows (It's live action, in case you're wondering). Thank you again to anyone who has left me a comment or kudo, I will always reply back even if it takes me a bit. Enjoy the plot twists! 
> 
> Expect the next chapter around April 2nd. 
> 
> ~Winterberry 
> 
> (There's an unusual name in this chapter; 'Mellan' it's pronounced 'Mel-awn' not melon like the fruit)

They landed on moss edged cobblestones beneath the eve of a stone work building. A willow tree hid them from the view of passerby’s. The sky was dusky and half lit by stars, the moon a bright silvery coin.

“I thought it was early afternoon?” Jack whispered to Pitch.

“It’s always like that here, time works differently”.

“Oh”.

Through the swaying branches Jack could see a whole manner of beings walking past. Some had fur, others feathers, many possessed unusually colored skin or long tapered ears. Most outfitted in long, billowing clothes like those he and Pitch wore.

“Where are we?” Jack asked Pitch, unable to take his eyes from the strange coming and goings.

“In a village at the edge of the main court, it should be a good place to gather some information…You may want to put that hood up”.

Jack tugged the hood over his head, half hiding his face. “What about you?”

A shadow grew from the neck of Pitch’s robes and settled over his head, it was a hood like Jack’s.

“Ok, that’s kind of a neat”.

“Be impressed later, if someone finds us hiding they’ll think we’re up to something”.

Emerging from amidst the branches, they joined the throng. Voices of vendors called out in an odd language from behind stalls, selling food and other goods. Jack caught an intelligible word here and there, spoken in thick accents. The buildings had an old Victorian sort of charm, ivy growing in wild patches up their sides and jewel colored light refracting off of their stained glass windows. Keeping his head down, Pitch led Jack through the narrow streets with purpose. Wings whirred overhead as a group of sprite-like creatures buzzed past. With an odd longing, Jack realized that he wouldn’t have to hide his ability to fly in the fey realm…If someone didn’t want to kill him.

They stopped below a hanging wood sign that said; ‘The Drowned Maiden’. A swaying man with tusks protruding from his lips burst through the oaken door beneath the sign and shoved past them. Jack almost put a hand to his face as a strong smell of alcohol hit him. With a frown at the rude stranger, Pitch grabbed the door before it could slam shut and held it open for Jack. On a gleaming wood floor rested a dozen or so tables with a motley assortment of fey drinking out of deep tankards of variously colored liquids. A curvaceous bar maid was delivering new mugs, lavender hair dotted with tiny flowers and long skirts swirling as she moved.

“This is a good place to start, the local tavern always has plenty of news and gossip” Pitch said under his breath.

Jack nodded and slid onto a stool beside Pitch at the long bar. A fey with waist length ink blue hair, a skeletally thin frame, chalk white skin and eyes an almost electric shade of blue was mixing drinks. His long fingered hands, fading from blue at the tips up to white at the wrists, were stirring a black beverage from which smoky vapor was issuing.

Jack watched for a moment, fascinated. He glanced at Pitch who seemed to be staring at the bartender, a surprised expression on what little Jack could see of his face.

“Mellan, is that you?” Pitch said softly.

The fey turned to look at them, his face had a terrifying beauty about it, all sharp angles. A lightning shaped tattoo the same color as his eyes stretched vertically from left eyebrow to cheek bone. “Kozmotis?” He dropped the long utensil he’d been stirring the concoction with. “What are you doing back here? If any of the court soldiers find you…” he hissed out under his breath.

“You, working at a tavern, I think I’m more surprised!” Pitch hissed back.

“I will have you know that I own this establishment”. Mellan turned and called in the fey language over his shoulder. A fawn with horns spiraling out from under his dark curls sauntered over carrying a tray of empty mugs. “He will take over and we can go to the back”.

They followed Mellan through a doorway behind the bar and into a small sitting room. The fey man had to duck before entering, his bony frame at least seven feet in height. He shut the door behind them, tuning the pub noise down to a dull hum. A fireplace crackled in one corner. On top of an intricately woven rug rested a high backed chair and a long couch, both upholstered in bottle green diamond-patterned fabric. Mellan took the chair, his long legs stretching across a decent portion of the rug. Jack and Pitch sat across from him, Pitch taking the place nearer the flames.

“Who is this?” Mellan asked, with a gesture toward Jack

“Forgive my rudeness, this is Jack Frost. Jack, Mellan was a member of the King’s guard…once upon a time and an old friend” Pitch said, gesturing between them.

“I would say pleased to make your acquaintance, but the circumstances of our meeting are not so pleasant. What are you doing here Kozmotis? Things have not gone well since your abrupt departure. If any fey were to recognize your face they would be required to report it to the guard. The Winter King calls only for your capture, but the Summer King has placed a death penalty upon your head and many would bring you to him simply to reap the rewards”.

Pitch passed a hand down his face. “I had a feeling it was something like that, I’ve tried to stay as far from court life as possible these past years…Until Jack and I met by chance. He’s a changeling, but not the usual kind. I’m almost certain someone hid him in the human realm in order to protect him. A summer fey we don’t know the identity of destroyed his home looking for him. We need to find who put him in the human realm in the first place in order discover who’s after him…and I thought it was time I faced my own demons as well”.

Mellan sighed. “We are on the brink of war. Have you not noticed the strange weather of late? Rain and winter storms have plagued the human world well into spring and broaching on the edge of summer. The King is not the same, he once cared for peace and balance, but that has slowly shifted over the years you have been gone. He has steadily been claiming summer lands. As you know, the power of the lands and of the people is the power of the king and the source of the seasons on the human plane…If things tip much further both realms could fall to catastrophe… There have always been small skirmishes between courts, old rivalries between ancient families, but this is far more extreme. The Summer King has simply defended his borders thus far, he at least still understands the need for balance…However, the nobles of the summer court are becoming mutinous and they won’t sit still while their lands are taken….And now you return at the edge of it all with this boy at your side…coincidence? I think not”.

Pitch leaned back heavily. “I had no idea things had gotten so out of hand…This would explain the increasing amount of fey activity in the human realm. Could there be a connection…?” He turned to look at Jack.

Jack was still trying to process the sudden flux of information. “What?”

“…Nothing…Mellan, if there’s such discord between courts, why has our king called for my arrest? I can understand the summer court’s warrant, it was to them that I did harm, not the winter court”.

“I do not know, it was not even you who started the skirmish…They killed Emily and she was only a child, I can think of no greater crime. I am sorry for her loss, Kozmotis...The king has drifted from court and keeps to himself, the prince carries out his orders and deals with the public now…I could not be party to the slow destruction of the courts and I chose to leave the guard. I bought this place…It allows me to watch and listen while remaining on the side lines”.

“Something else has to be going on here…The King was always a strong ruler…”

“It is a mystery to myself as well”.

Jack finally spoke up. “What if…What if all of these things are somehow connected?” The attempt on Pitch’s life, the attempt on my life and the transformation of the king?”

Pitch and Mellan both stared at him. Mellan as if he were questioning Jack’s sanity and Pitch considering the statement.

“Pitch…I know this a tough question, but when you found the man that killed Emily, what did he say?”

After a silent moment Pitch said; “He said that the treaty was a wasted effort, that there would never be true peace between the courts”.

“Maybe I’m wrong here, but what was in it for him? More land, war? What if there was another reason for his actions?”

“I don’t know, Jack. I suppose it’s possible, but fey are not like humans. For many of the noble families land and prowess in battle are the pentacle of power and they care for little else. The treaty would have put an end to many of our old ways and some were not fond of that”.

Mellan nodded in agreement. “When you are as old as the rocks a new way of life is difficult to accept”.

“Isn’t age supposed to bring wisdom?”

Both Pitch and Mellan laughed. Mellan’s voice rasped as if he rarely made the sound.

“You would think, but that is not always the case” Mellan said in his melodic voice. Like Pitch, his words held a musical lilt, only it was much more defined.

“I think the most important thing is to find out who’s after you, Jack. The key to that mystery lies in whoever left you in the human realm”.

“Wait…Was there a glamour upon you, one that made you seem human to yourself and others?” Mellan asked Jack, eyes lighting with some memory.

“Yes…it broke a few days ago” Jack said, sliding to the edge of his seat.

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-two”.

“It would have been around then…Twenty-two years ago I was still a part of the guard. I caught a court servant…I think her name was Una…trying to smuggle a baby past the gates of the main court. There was a fresh glamour upon the child. I could just sense it because it was still settling. She was one of the indebted, you have to understand, and she was not allowed to leave the court until her service was finished. She begged me to let her pass, saying the child would otherwise perish. Something about her, something about that child swayed me. I let her go and promised to help her sneak back inside the next day. She returned without the child and I did not ask her what had become of him, if I were ever to be questioned it was best to know little. Soon after, things turned for the worst and that is when I left”.

Jack could barely contain his excitement “Did the child have brown eyes and hair?”

“I believe so” Mellan said, one finger curled around his chin.

“Pitch, this Una woman probably knows who I am…What if she was my mother?!”

“I do not think she was your mother…she was a very different sort of fey than yourself. Might I read your hand?” Mellan held out his bony fingers.

Jack glanced at Pitch uncertainly and Pitch nodded at him with a slight smile as if to say; ‘it’s fine’.

Nervously, Jack placed his hand in Mellan’s. A shock like sensation traveled up his wrist and he jerked his palm back.

“Just an errant bit of electricity, it should not hurt you” Mellan said calmly, hand still open.

Grimacing slightly, Jack put it back. Mellan closed his eyes, placing his other hand over Jack’s. Jack could feel each bone and joint, hot against his own cool skin. He didn’t much like being touched by someone other than Pitch and it was an effort not to snatch is limb back again. Another shock went through Jack, sending a current up his arm. It didn’t hurt per say, but it wasn’t exactly enjoyable. Pitch put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed lightly as if sensing his discomfort.

After a long moment Mellan released his grip. “The raw power you possess is enormous…That child was you, I recognize your energy signature. Whoever your parents are, one or both of them must be extremely powerful, possibly one of the old families”.

“How’d you know that just by touching my hand?”

Mellan made an odd expression and Jack suddenly remembered Pitch saying it was rude to ask a fey about their powers.

“…My core is lightening and I can read energies. Living bodies possess electrical currents and I can attune myself to them”.

“I’m sorry if that was a rude question” Jack said, not wishing to offend the imposing fey.

“I suspect your upbringing was not conventional and you cannot be blamed for your lack of knowledge on fey etiquette”.

“Um, thanks”. Jack felt like there might’ve been an insult in there somewhere.

Pitch hadn’t removed his hand from Jack’s shoulder. “No he cannot, as he believed himself to be a human until a few weeks ago”.

Jack bit the inside of his lip, feeling just a little bit pleased. Pitch had defended him. Before a battle of subtle insults could ensue Jack said; “Do you know what happened to her, Una?”

“As far as I am aware she is still at court, if she lives”.

“How can we find her?” Jack asked, determined.

“You would have to go inside of the main court, but as both of you are fugitives that would be nigh on impossible”.

“We’ll have to find a way, this is our only lead. We both knew the risks before coming here” Pitch said.

“You will get yourselves captured, what are you thinking Kozmotis? Going into the very place that you should be staying away from?”

“You say that we’re on the brink of war, the time for action and answers is now” Pitch said resolutely.

“You are one of the few who can transport in and out of the inner grounds, still, you do not know who might be there when you arrive”.

“I know the gardens and halls of the court as well as I know my own face, I did spend the better part of several centuries walking them”.

“Pitch, if they’re after you maybe Mellan is right…I could go alone. As far as we know there’s only one person out for my blood rather than an entire army” Jack said, although he was fairly sure that Pitch wouldn’t like the idea.

“That is out of the question. For one, they won’t let just anyone inside and for two we don’t know how many people are after you nor who they are”.

“Well, it was summer fey, wasn’t it?”

Pitch’s expression was dead set. “Yes, but it was a winter fey who took you from this court, there are too many unknowns”.

“…You’re probably right” Jack said grudgingly. “I just…I don’t want you to put your life in danger unnecessarily”.

“My feelings exactly. That’s why we’re staying together”.

Mellan was watching them in mild fascination. “Do you two need a moment alone?” he said, tone dry.

Jack felt the blood rise to his face. Were they really that obvious?

Pitch simply chuckled. “I think we’ve already settled the matter”.

“Well then, what is it that you are going to do?” Mellan said, unfazed.

“We’ll enter the court by the servant’s quarters using my shadows and from there we’ll try to locate this Una”.

Jack nodded, recovering from his moment of embarrassment. “That does seem to be the best course of action”.

“I would offer my help, but the smaller the number, the lower the chance of discovery” Mellan said.

“Agreed. You’ve done enough by providing us with this information. I was sure we’d have to search half the village. Fate must be on our side” Pitch said, getting to his feet.

“You are leaving already?” Mellan said, looking a little disappointed.

His facial expressions were so mild that Jack was uncertain if Mellan actually meant what he said. Maybe if you got really old it was hard to get worked up about much and he got the sense that the fey had been around for a while.

“If we make it out alive maybe I’ll come back for a chat sometime” Pitch replied with a wry smile.

“I look forward to it”.

“We’ll leave from this room, if that’s alright?” Pitch asked the fey.

“That is fine, I doubt any of the drunkards noticed our entering”.

“Insulting the customers Mellan, how like you”.

“I may be the same, but you have changed. It seems you have finally found someone to care for again”. He stood and bent at the waist, making a half bow. “Be careful, something strange is happening inside the court”.

Pitch inclined his head and placed a fist over his heart. “We will be”.

Mellan turned to leave.

“Thank you” Jack said.

“Watch out for him” Mellan replied and shut the door behind him.

“You certainly have interesting taste in friends” Jack informed Pitch.

“He’s a soldier through and through, I’m surprised he was able to leave the guard. Things must have been very bad. Once you get to know him it’s easier to read that stiff face of his and you’ll never meet a more loyal comrade”.

“I got the feeling he didn’t like me much”.

“Oh, it just takes him a while to warm up to others…Like a certain someone”.

Jack rolled his eyes dramatically. “Are you saying that I’m chilly?”

Pitch snorted “Very funny”.

Becoming serious, Jack said; “I think he sees me as someone dragging his friend into unnecessary danger, which isn’t exactly untrue”.

Pitch placed his hands on Jack’s shoulders “Don’t you think that. I brought you here and I’m going to protect you. Besides, danger is what I do”.

“Yeah, you’re a regular junkie…Don’t worry about me so much, I think I can do some serious damage if I need to” Jack said, gripping his staff tightly.

“I will always worry” Pitch said, pulling Jack closer.

The kiss was soft at first, but it grew in intensity. Jack felt his lids drift shut as that weak dizziness took hold of him. He clung to Pitch, feeling only the press of the arm around his shoulders, the hand in his hair and the pressure on his lips. A phantom surge of warmth flared in his limbs as a tremor ran through him. His thoughts fled away as Pitch consumed his existence for a timeless moment. It was like tipping into a bottomless hole and Jack loved the fall.

They broke apart, both drawing in deep breaths. Pitch brushed thumb over Jack’s cheek.

“Why did that feel like a ‘just in case’ kiss?” Jack said, searching Pitch’s face.

“Maybe it was…Or maybe I just enjoy every kiss with you like it could be the last”.

“I suppose I can’t complain about that”.

Pitch sighed softly. “Grab onto me if any of the guards arrive and I’ll transport us away. Don’t fight if you don’t have to, these are trained soldiers. If things are as bad as Mellan says, we don’t want to be caught”.

“Alright…Do you think she’s still alive?”

Pitch pulled Jack’s hood up and re-materialized his own. “We can only hope”. He wrapped his arms around Jack’s shoulders and turned them into the shadows.

They materialized in a long hallway of doorways. An intake of breath caused Jack to turn. A short, round fey woman with fur-tipped ears was standing a few feet away. She wore a white apron and was holding a basket of clothes. She opened her mouth as if to scream. Pitch was on her in an instant, hand over her mouth.

“We’re not here to hurt anyone, we just need to talk to a servant named Una, is she here?” Slowly, Pitch removed his hand.

Frightened eyes darting between them, she nodded.

Jack felt a surge of relief.

“Can you take us to her?” Pitch asked.

“Y-yes” she said in a high, quavering voice and turned to lead them down the hall.

It almost felt too empty. “Where is everyone?” Jack whispered.

“Most are probably working or resting in their rooms” Pitch said, indicating the doors.

They stopped in front of one and the fey woman rapped her knuckles against it. “Una?”

After a moment the nob turned. Una had jaw length copper colored hair and eyes. Foxlike ears twitched on top of her head and a loose russet dress clothed her short, but slim form.

Jack had imagined that she’d look older. He had to remind himself that fey didn’t age as humans did. “Are you Una?” he asked over Pitch and the servant woman’s shoulders.

“Yes?” She looked at him. Slowly, her eyes widened as if in recognition. “Come in. It’s alright, Lilly, I was expecting these gentlemen”.

Pitch and Jack followed her inside and Lilly darted back down the hall.

The room was simple. A narrow bed and a single chair decorated the bare tiled floor. A lone window on the far wall allowed the bluish light to spill inside. Sketches of flowers broke the empty expanse of wall here and there.

“Was it alright to let her go like that?” Pitch asked Una as she shut the door behind them.

“She would be more likely to speak out if we forced her to remain”. Stepping close to Jack, she looked up into his face. “Are you…Jack?” She asked, touching a strand of his silver hair.

“Yes…Do you know who I am?”

Her amber eyes were a little wet. “I do…I am glad you are alive…and you were able to undo the glamour. That means he knows you are alive”.

“Who?” Jack felt an almost desperate need to know the answer.

“The Prince”.

“…Why…Why would the prince want me dead?”

“Maybe yourself…and…Kozmotis Pitchiner? Is that you? I thought you were dead”.

“That does seem to be the overall consensus. I am, however, very much alive…Have we met?”

“Not formally, but most of the court knows your story…How on earth did the two of you meet?”

“Our paths crossed by chance in the human realm and I recognized Jack for what he was…and we formed a friendship of sorts. I knew he was a changeling, but the circumstances of his becoming one didn’t seem to be usual. When a summer fey broke into Jack’s home and destroyed it we knew we had to come here in search of answers. We found an old friend of mine, Mellan. Mellan told us a story about you and a baby, who we now know was Jack. So, here we are”.

Jack admired that Pitch was able to summarize the situation up in a few neat sentences. He would’ve been trying to explain the convoluted thing his life had become for an hour.

“Perhaps it was not so much chance as an invisible thread pulling you together”.

“What do you mean?” Jack said, confused.

“Your mother’s name was Airleas. She was a powerful wind fey, one of the neutrals that live in the untamed forests. Your father…your father is the king”.

Jack sat down hard on the single chair. “…The…king?”

Pitch was leaning against a wall, his face a picture of shock. “That would explain a lot…I am drawn to protect the royal family…and you are a prince”.

“Me…a prince? That’s ridiculous…”

“You are…It is a secret I have kept for the past twenty-two years” Una said.

“My mother…what happened to her?”

“You had best take a seat as well Mr. Pitchiner, it is a bit of a story”.

Pitch sat down on the edge of the bed, still somewhat in shock. Jack simply waited for the story he’d been searching for since he had discovered he was fey.

I was one of the maids that attended your mother for the short time she lived in court…There is a night once a year during which the wild fey join the court fey for feasting and frivolity. The queen had passed away nearly two hundred years ago and the king had little time nor care to find another. During one of these celebrations he met her, Airleas, and fell for her at first sight” Una paced the room. “By the nights end the king had convinced her to come to the court. He must have been very charming, to convince a wild fey, because they are not suited for court life. They kept their relationship a secret, fore it was new and despite her poise and power she was no noble lady. Only months later she became pregnant with his child, with you. She was afraid to tell him, afraid that he might not want another child when he had already a grown son. He was overjoyed and asked for her hand. She said yes. In order to protect from any disapproving parties they decided to wait till after the birth to make the announcement public. Things were unstable after the fall of the treaty and border skirmishes were already escalating at the time. It must have been then that the king told the prince. You must understand, the crown is not passed to the oldest child, but the strongest. The one that will make the best ruler. If you had grown to be stronger, the throne would have likely been yours. Pretending his indifference on the matter, the prince waited until you were born. When you came into this world it was clear that you had inherited both wind and winter. When the prince discovered this he must have felt threatened by what you might become…. I remember the day it happened so vividly, it was shortly after your birth and the announcement of your existence and the king’s betrothal was to be the next day. I was holding you and walking about the balcony, you had been crying and your mother was still weak. You fell asleep I was about to re-enter the room when a knock came at the main door. Airleas called to the visitor to come in and I waited outside with you. It was the prince. I could hear what they said through the window, but he did not know I was there. He pulled his sword from its sheath and held it against her chest, asking her where you were. She refused to answer. Before she could call on the winds, he drove the sword through her. I almost screamed, but I knew he would kill you too if he found us, so I stayed silent. He pulled a bottle from his pocket and released a blast of summer magic, marking the walls scorches. After he left I went to her side. She was barely breathing. She asked for you and I laid you in her arms. With the last of her magic she cast a powerful glamour over you and begged me with her last breaths to hide you away in the human world until you became strong enough to live in this one…As you know, Mellan aided in my escape and I went to the human realm. There, I found a hospital and a child that looked much like you. The human child had been born sickly and I waited until he passed that night to put you in his place. Using what little magic I have, I left a small naming spell so that your new parents might call you by your true name. When I snuck back it seemed no one had noticed my absence. I kept my silence all of these years, if the prince had found that I had been the one to hide you he would have tortured the answer from me...Even if I had tried to tell the king, who would he have believed, his son or a servant girl?...I know he has privately mourned her these last years. The prince, I believe, convinced him to keep news of her death silent. So the king sent out parties of soldiers to search for you while the prince sent assassins of his own. Over time the king retreated into himself, perhaps the loss of two loves and a child was too much for him, leaving the prince to do much of the ruling…If your home was attacked as you say, I am almost certain it was one of his men…that is everything I know”.

“I have a brother…and he wants to kill me. I don’t want to be a prince and I certainly don’t want to be king!” He clenched his fists. “It’s all so twisted…”

Pitch turned, mouth open to say something and the door burst open. A bright light blasted into the room. Jack stood and stumbled back, blinded by it. He blinked rapidly, trying to see. There was a clink of metal on metal and Jack heard Pitch cry out his name. His back slammed into something smooth. It was the window. Vision clearing, he was finally able to make out the scene before him. Pitch was blocking a sword with one of his long knives, surrounded by three fey soldiers, all of them fitted out in dark armor. One held a mirror from which light was pouring and he was directing it at Pitch.

“JACK! RUN!”

“NO!” Jack lurched forward, raising his staff. One of the soldiers aimed an arrow at him and he froze.

“GO, I CAN’T-” With a shove Pitch tried to push back against the blade baring down on him. Whatever the light was, it seemed to be preventing Pitch from transporting or using his shadows. He was slammed into the floor.

Una grabbed Jack, her back to the soldiers, pulling him down she whispered quickly into his ear. “Fly north to the wild woods and find your mother’s people”. She shoved him back toward the window.

A twang sounded in the air. Una leapt, throwing herself sideways in front of Jack. The hollow thunk seemed to echo and an arrow protruded from the center of her chest. Jack cried out, reaching for her. One of the soldiers had made it past Pitch and was almost on him. Shouts came from the hall. More of them were coming. With a backward leap, Jack broke through the window. Jagged bits of glass cut into his skin, but he didn’t care. The soldier was already aiming another arrow.

“I’LL COME BACK FOR YOU!” he yelled to Pitch.

“I’LL BE WAITING!” Pitch yelled back before his voice was muffled by the soldier pressing him into the floor.

Jack darted upward. Another twang sounded and a ripping pain shot through his calf. He looked down to find an arrow piercing his leg. Gritting his teeth, he flew higher, heading north and toward the wild wood. Blood and tears trailing behind him like rain.

 

Here's a fey Jack doodle for ya. (ducks projectiles thrown because of cliff hanger)


	11. Wild Wood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Easter everyone! I hope you've eaten a crap ton of marshmallow peeps and other junk because I certainly have! Enjoy this chapter, I didn't cram quite as much content into it as I had intended, so the other half of the arc will have to wait until the next one. I'm considering doing a chapter from Pitch's current perspective as well, but we'll see. Thank you again to those who have left me any comments or kudos! I treasure each one and I'll always send you a reply, even if it takes me a few days. 
> 
> I plan on posting a new chapter around every ten days or so, the next one should be out around around April 15th. 
> 
> ~Winterberry

Jack’s vision was already flickering. He hadn’t pulled the arrow out yet, but he was still bleeding. A sudden inspiration took him. Looking behind for any following soldiers for what seemed like the hundredth time, he paused in the air. Either they didn’t have any flying fey on hand or they couldn’t make it up into the frigid air of the higher altitudes. Any wings would begin to ice over if they came up as high as he’d gone. Breath hissing out, Jack touched his finger tips to the edges of the wound. It was tempting to simply pull the arrow out, the sight of it skewered through his leg sent a wave of nausea through him. Keeping a tight hold on his cold, Jack sent ice crystals out from his fingertips to cover the wound, slowly freezing the blood flow. It wasn’t a mortal wound now that he’d stopped the bleeding, but he was already weak and it burned. The terror he felt for Pitch and what the winter prince might be doing to him in some dungeon or cell gave him the strength to keep going.

“Go to the woods. Find help. Rescue Pitch” he said under his breath like a mantra. Blinking his eyes hard, he created an even stronger wind and rode it toward the north.

After a few hours had passed and Jack was certain that he was about to drop from the air like a wingless bird, the edge of a forest came into view in the distance. The trees reaching up toward the half-dark sky, scraping at the stars. Wrapping his arms around his middle, Jack began to descend toward a field at the edge of the Wild Wood. He wasn’t sure if it would be wise to fly directly into the trees, given the name of the place and Pitch’s warnings. His heart ached when he thought of Pitch.

“Fuck”. It was going to be a rough landing. He was already at an almost fall, trying to hold onto the breezes.

Gracelessly his good leg slammed into the ground with enough force to jar his entire body. Unable to stay balanced, he collapsed forward. He let out an aborted yell as his other leg hit the ground. It felt like he’d been shot all over again. The air huffed from his lungs and he knew his elbows and knees would be badly bruised. With a derisive, self-mocking sound he gave up on pushing himself up for a moment, resting his check against sweet smelling grass, limbs at odd angles. Digging his fingers into the earth, he tried to gather his strength.

“You’re going to rescue Pitch, pull it together Jack!” he hissed at himself. With a groan he wrapped his fingers around hanks of the grass and pulled himself into a sitting position.

A high pitched giggle from somewhere nearby caused him to whip his head around. He grabbed at his staff where it had landed a couple feet away. He’d accidentally dropped it upon landing. “Who’s there!? I have a weapon!”

“Maybe he’s crazy, he was talking to himself!” said a high pitched little voice from somewhere amongst the grasses.

“I like the crazy ones, they’re always more interesting” said another almost identical voice.

“I’m not crazy…where are you?” Even as he said it, Jack wondered if he maybe was a little crazy. The whole damned situation was crazy.

Another giggle and two green glowing shapes emerged from behind a clump of grass some feet away and zig zagged over to loop around his head. The two tiny fey creatures slowed to hover in front of his face. Each was only a few inches in height and wore haphazardly stitched leaves. Their wings were like those of Luna moths and furry little antenna sprouted from messy locks of hair the same bright green as their wings. One grinned at him, displaying tiny needle-like teeth.

“What kind of fey are you?” Jack asked them curiously.

“A bit rude, isn’t he?” One said in its high voice.

“I like the rude ones too, they tell better jokes” said the other.

“We, for your information, are moth pixies. Are you stupid or something?”

“Not particularly” Jack said, too tired to be really offended. “I didn’t exactly grow up around here”.

“If we’re being rude, what are you then? Your flying sucks balls”.

Jack snorted. “You two don’t talk like the rest of the fey I’ve encountered”.

“We were born in the human realm and migrated here” said the one that seemed to be in charge.

“I suppose that makes sense…I’m a…ice fey. Usually I’m not so clumsy, but my leg is hurt and I need to find someone in the woods”.

The pixies shot down toward his leg, hovering over the protruding arrow.

One whistled. “That’s nasty, it might infect if you don’t have someone look at it soon”.

The other pixie simple said; “Ouch”.

“Is that…an arrow from the royal guard?”

Jack stiffened and didn’t say anything. “…Are you going to find them?”

“Why would we do that, we’re wild fey and we don’t owe them nothin”.

Jack sighed out his relief. “Do you two know where I can find the wild fey that live in the wood, possibly wind fey?”

“I don’t think you’ll make it in your condition, the big ones live deep inside, near the forest’s heart”.

“I have to…Someone I care for needs my help”.

“Oooohhh! Is it true love? Is there a damsel in a tower?”

Jack blushed and simultaneously tried not to laugh imagining Pitch thusly. The other pixie boxed the one that had just spoken.

“There you go again, your brain is going mushy”.

The pixie rubbed its head vigorously. “That hurt!” it whined.

Jack was starting to get the impression that the one with the higher voice was a girl and the other a boy. It was hard to tell, they looked quite similar.

“Well, is it? Is it love?” The pixie asked again, dipping away from another smack.

“…I…” Jack didn’t know what to say. He and Pitch had certainly admitted that they cared for one another. Had he ever said ‘I love you’ to anyone before? Jack couldn’t remember, but he didn’t think so. Something about the phrase annoyed him. People used to refer to food, things they liked to do, trite references. It didn’t feel right to use the same term to sum up a thousand tiny feelings and the whole they created. Then again, Pitch had called him ‘love’ and it had sent an uncontrollable shiver up his spine. “…Probably” he said on a sigh.

“He sighed! It’s definitely love! Coooome ooooon Thorn, we have to help him!

The male pixie whose name seemed to be Thorn crossed his tooth pick arms. “I always intended to help him! He has a god dam arrow through his leg and he’s obviously neutral. You just haven’t shut up long enough for me to say so!”

“Yay! We’ll reunite you with your lady love!”

Jack didn’t have the heart to correct the scatter brained pixie. Instead, he imagined telling Pitch the story later and how he’d been compared to a princess in distress. If there was a Pitch to tell it to. With a groan, he leveraged himself up to a standing position using his staff. He felt a wet sensation on his leg. The ice had cracked and blood was running down his injured limb again. For a moment, he rested his forehead against the staff, taking in gulps of air.

“Are you ok?” One of the pixies asked.

“Of course he’s not ok Petal, there’s a freaking arrow through his leg!” The other said.

“I just need to find the fey of the wild wood” Jack said, re-icing the wound. He suspected it wasn’t helping the overall healing of the injury, but it would have to do.

“We’ll take you on a safe path. There’s some nasty bogies in those woods”.

Jack thought it was Thorn speaking this time. “Thank you, but why are you helping me…I was kind of under the impression that fey didn’t do things without something in return”.

“We’re helping because Petal here won’t shut up about it if we don’t and I’m curious. It’s not every day that a strange fey crashes into our field”.

“I see, well I’m grateful….My name is Jack by the way…Lead on”.

The two spheres of soft green light darted ahead to the edge of the trees. Jack created tiny breezes and used them to skim over the ground after the pixies.  
The trees were giant. Jack couldn’t see their tops and leaves as large as dinner plates floated to the forest floor here and there. Luminous mosses cast a cool glow upon the faint path and tiny phosphorescent flowers filled the air with strange scents. Poisonous looking black mushrooms with blood-red undersides glistened with star-like dew drops from their clusters upon the twisted branches and swaths of lichen and ivy hung from trees, swaying in the breezeless air. Lights of chemical-bright eyes winked here and there among the foliage. The Wild Wood had a frightening beauty about it.

The constant glow of Petal and Thorn guided him when the path disappeared. If they wanted to leave him in the middle of the woods as a snack for some beastie they could, Jack realized. Still, what choice did he have? His lower lip had begun to bleed where he’d bitten it repeatedly as his leg or the arrow bumped into something. Suddenly, Jack realized that he starving, when had he last eaten? He couldn’t remember and his stomach growled as if to accentuate it.

“Is…Is it much farther?” He panted out, stumbling now. Too tired to stir the air. It felt as if they’d been traveling for hours.

“Not much”. One of the pixies chimed.

Lights had begun the throb before Jack’s eyes like phantom images of the pixies. He was pretty sure it was his brain attempting to shut his body down. The pain was starting to reach new heights.

Jack bowed for breath, trying to gather his will. When he lifted his head there was a sword at his throat.

“What is your business in the Wild Wood?” said a sharp voice.

Jack looked up further. The fey staring down at him had shoulder length wavy hair the color of the tree bark all around them. Long tapered ears poked out from beneath. His eyes were the green of leaves and his strong jaw was clamped as if in preparation for a struggle. The tunic and breeches he wore beneath light leather armor blended in with the wood perfectly. Jack hadn’t even heard him draw the blade.

He swallowed once, pleased that he hadn’t let out some ridiculous noise of surprise. “…I’m looking for the wild fey that live in the wood…I…Anyone that might have known Airleas?”

“Oh” the fey said, eyes going wide with shock. Slowly, he lowered his sword.

Jack swayed on the spot as the fey studied him. His focus mainly bent on staying conscious.

“Hey! It’s Linden!” Said one of the pixies, zooming around the new fey’s head. It seemed they’d just realized that Jack was no longer following.

The other pixie, it had to be Petal, planted a tiny kiss on the wild fey’s temple.

“Off with you, gnat” Linden said, rubbing the spot.

“Awww, don’t be like that”.

“You are supposed to be watching the forest entrance, now that you have led him here you may return”.

“Buuut I don’t wanna! I’m gonna help Jack find his lady love!”

Jack groaned internally. He should have corrected her earlier.

“Off with you, you have a duty!” The fey practically roared.

Jack suspected that Linden had dealt with the pixies before.

“You’re even cuter when you act macho!” Petal said, fluttering microscopic eyelashes at Linden.

“I will swat you” Linden said menacingly.

“Awww, you’re no fun!”

With that, the pixies darted away, Petal giggling madly and Thorn telling her to shut it.

“Good riddance. Obnoxious little bugs those two are” Linden said as they flew. With a glance at Jack he turned “Follow me”.

Jack took a step and his vision went to tiny points of light. “Crap, passing out” he said lamely and collapsed onto the forest floor. Everything went dark.

The pain in his leg brought him back. With a moan he peeled his eyes open, disoriented for a moment. Pale, twisted wood sloped upward above. Seamlessly joining what looked like a…tree trunk? He was lying on something soft.

“Looks like he is awake. Too bad, he will feel it now”. Linden’s voice said from somewhere behind him

Shakily, Jack pushed himself up onto an elbow.

“Lay back down, young one” said a fey by Jack’s ankle. He had waist length white hair and a straight, narrow features. His face was unlined, but his silvery eyes spoke of millennia and spun moon beams. Pale green robes were draped around his form where he kneeled by Jack’s injury. The arrow was still in his leg.

Jack collapsed back against the cushion beneath him, to worn to stay upright. “…Where am I?”

“In my home” Said the silvery fey in a soft voice. His tone was tranquil, like a gentle breeze. “I am Niall Lightwind.

“My friend, he’s been captured by the winter prince. I need to rescue him-”

“Hush, this arrow must be removed before we discuss why you have come” Niall said gently.

“But-”

“Linden, please hold his legs” Niall said talking over him.

Linden kneeled by his legs and shrugged at Jack almost apologetically. He braced his hands on Jack’s calves.

Jack forced himself onto his elbow again, all of the ice had broken away from the wound and what little scab there had been was cracked. Blood oozed slowly from around the arrow and the entire area was black and blue, skin swollen and mangled around the entry point. Jack limply collapsed back, bile rising in his throat.

“At least it missed the bone” Niall said, more to himself.

“Brace yourself” Linden told Jack, Pushing even harder.

Jack dug his fingers into the fabric of the cushion beneath him, it was a little rough as if woven from natural fibers. Closing his eyes, he clamped his jaw. He jolted hard when the arrow twitched in his leg as Niall broke off the fathered end with a resounding snap. It hurt like hell.

The movement against his skin stopped and Jack cracked an eye. “Are you going to-” He let out a shriek as the arrow was pulled from his leg with a sickening squelch. Gasping out short breaths he fought to stay conscious. He couldn’t afford to black out again with Pitch waiting for him.

Niall made a soft sound of displeasure. “You will be lucky if this does not infect”.

Jack was having a hard time comprehending what Niall was saying, his brain felt slow and sluggish.

Standing, Niall left Jack’s side and returned a moment later with a red hot poker in his hand.

Suddenly very much aware Jack said; “No, no way! I’m an ice fey!”

Niall raised a brow in a gesture that reminded Jack of Pitch. “Do you wish your leg to rot off?”

Jack’s mouth hung open for a moment “…No”.

“Then we must cauterize it. Flesh is flesh no matter what sort of fey you are”.

Exhaling through his nose, Jack wished he had passed out. “Do it”. He turned his head to the side and saw his staff lying on the odd wood floor. Wrapping his fingers around it, he found a small measure of comfort.

Linden leaned his weight onto Jack’s legs again. “Might want to bite your sleeve there”.

Shuddering internally, Jack bit into his sleeve and nodded.

“Close your eyes, this will be easier if you do not tense” Niall said, aligning the poker with Jack’s wound.

Jack closed his eyes and thought of Pitch, pictured the rare genuine smile he sometimes revealed. The one that made his golden eyes light up like twin flames. He heard the sound of sizzling flesh a split second before he felt it. It was so much worse than the dagger in his back or the initial entry of the arrow. His scream was muffled by the fabric in his mouth and unbidden tears streamed down his face. Jack’s body spasmed upward against Linden’s hold as the pain held his mind in an iron grip. Pitch’s face was fading away and he forced all of his focus on keeping it affixed behind his eyes, forcing himself to remain awake. After another full body shudder, he was just beginning to relax into the cushion when Niall lifted his leg and Linden pushed down on the limb. The sizzling sound came again as the poker was pressed against the exit end of the wound. Jack had forgotten that there was a wound on either side of his leg. Too surprised to scream, he thrashed once, teeth grinding through the fabric and gripping his staff hard enough to bruise the pads of his hand.

“Done” Niall said, setting the poker aside. “You did very well. I am no healer, but this should not cause you to lose any mobility once it has healed internally”.

Jack didn’t speak, he was still reeling from the pain. He flinched when a cool cloth passed over his leg, wiping away the excess blood. Niall ignored the flinch and continued his work. Slowly, he cleaned the area and wrapped neat bandages around it.

Linden stood. “I am impressed you were able to remain awake through that one” he said, staring down at Jack.

Swallowing dryly, Jack gathered coherent words. “I need help, the winter prince…he…he-”

“I think some sustenance is in order firstly” Niall said, standing gracefully.

Jack made a choked frustrated sound.

“I understand that there is someone you want to help, but if you are too weak to pick yourself off the floor, what good will you be?”

Clenching his fingers into a fist, Jack glared at the ceiling. More frustrated with his own weakness than anything. “…Fine”.

 

There was just a hint of a smile on Niall’s face as he moved silently across the floor and disappeared around a corner. It was hard to tell because his emotions seemed to have little effect on his features.

With a soft, pained sound Jack sat up. Spots danced before his eyes.

“I would not do that yet” Linden said.

Jack ignored him and pulled himself to a standing position, using his staff to leverage himself. He swayed for a moment, balancing on his good leg. There was a wood chair to his right and he collapsed onto it, pleased that he could at least get himself off the floor. With a shrug, Linden sat in a similar chair a few feet away. Stretching his bad leg out, Jack looked around the space. At the center of the room was what appeared to be a tree trunk. The ceiling sloped down from the trunk seamlessly, as if it had grown from the tree itself. As with the ceiling, the floor circled the trunk and radiated out. Branches formed neat shelves on which rested books, scrolls and other odd objects. Soft light filtered in through an oval window on the rounded wall. Leaves dipped and swayed outside.

“Are we in a tree house?” Jack asked Linden with a sudden realization.

“Yes”.

“How is it…Just growing out of the tree like that?”

Linden looked surprised. “It was created by those with the ability to grow things, to shape the trees and plants with their wills. How do you not know this?”

“I…Can it wait until he comes back, I don’t really want to tell the story twice”.

Linden nodded slowly, face curious.

Jack found he rather liked the tree house. He felt safer somehow, knowing he was up high and hidden amongst the branches. Rubbing a finger over the arm of the chair he sat on, he found tiny intricate leaf patterns. Potted plants rested here and there and a desk was pushed against one wall, littered with loose paper, ink pots and quills.

Niall returned a moment later carrying a tray. If he was surprised to find Jack sitting in a chair he didn’t show it. He set the tray across the arms of the chair and removed two spare steaming mugs, handing one to Linden. Sitting in another chair across from Jack, he leaned back, robes somehow remaining perfectly arranged.

Jack murmured a belated thank you and his stomach growled when the smell of something herbal and savory hit his nose. It was a bowl of some sort of mushroom mixture. Taking a cautious bite, Jack closed his eyes as the salty juice of a mushroom exploded in his mouth. It was delicious. Some sort of rice was mixed with the mushrooms and a few other unknown vegetables. Jack wondered if Niall ate meat. Both Niall and Linden sipped their tea quietly while they waited for Jack to finish.

The food helped return a measure of his strength and Jack finished it within five minutes. He downed a glass of water in one and set the tray carefully on the floor, cupping a still steaming tea cup between his hands. Blowing on it, Jack took a sip of the too-hot liquid. It was slightly bitter, but sweet and floral.

“What is this?” Jack asked Niall.

“A blend of my own making. It contains a special type of jasmine that blooms here in the wood. It is good for injuries”.

“It’s good, I make some of my own teas as well”.

An odd expression crossed Niall’s otherwise smooth face for only a second.

Jack wasn’t sure if he’s seen it at all.

“Kind of you to say…I believe we are ready to hear why you have come to us” Niall said, studying Jack with his strange moon-colored eyes.

“Did you know a fey named Airleas?”

Niall’s body stiffened, but his face remained still. “Yes…I knew her. I knew her quite well”.

Trying to sum up his story as quickly as possible, Jack told them of how he had come to the fey realm. When he reached the part where Una talked about his mother a crease appeared between Niall’s brows and Linden was looking at him with wide eyes. Finally he spoke of how Pitch had been captured and he himself shot. “I think it must have been that fey we first met, she had to of warned the guards that we were in Una’s room…After I escaped, I came here and you know the rest”.

“Niall…” Linden said looking at the other fey.

Niall cleared his throat and cleared it again. “Your tale rings true…Airleas…She was my daughter”.

“You’re…my grandfather?” Jack was stunned, he hadn’t expected to find his mother’s family. In all of the chaos he had come to assume that his family was either disturbed or dead.

“If you are Airleas’s child, then yes, you are my grandchild”. Niall leaned forward slightly in his chair, eyes searching Jack’s face. “Yes…I can see her in you”. A brief pain flashed across his features and he reached across the space between them and touched the tips of his fingers to Jack’s cheek.

They simply looked at one another for a moment and Jack had the feeling that the fey had been longing for a family he didn’t know existed just as long as he himself had.

Linden shuffled a little and Niall seemed to come back to himself, retracting his limb.

Jack hadn’t minded his smooth, dry touch. He was still reeling to have discovered a living relative, his grandfather at that.

“If what you say is true, the prince has betrayed the king and many others” Linden said, face grim.

“He killed my child” Niall said softly, long fingers digging into the wood of the chair. Something like a shadow passed over his eyes as he stared unseeing at the wall. “I believed her to have been murdered by the summer fey, but it seems he tricked us all. He will pay for his crimes”. A soft menace entered his voice and his ancient eyes held the promise of violence.

Though Niall’s face was almost smooth, his murderous intent permeated the air. Jack shivered, grateful that this man was his grandfather and not his enemy. “...I don’t believe that the king is aware of what the prince has done. Either way, the prince has control of the winter court’s armies…As far as I can figure there are two choices; sneak in and rescue Pitch or somehow, impossibly, amass a force large enough to force our way in”.

Niall steepled his fingers. “Many do not realize that the wild fey rival the court in numbers. However, we are that, wild. Most of us prefer to live solitary lives and remain uninvolved in the politics and the affairs of others. Caring only for the forest and the freedom it grants…There is a possibility of convincing them to assist in bringing down the prince if the balance of the land is threatened. If the seasons are already affected in the human realm, the ripples will reach the Wild Wood eventually. This is the home of the wild fey and we will protect it fiercely, even if it means taking preemptive action. I remember Kozmotis Pitchiner. He is guilty of nothing besides taking what was owed him. The king was his friend and I find his arrest to be strange”.

“Do you think it’s possible that he knew Pitch was with me before we came to the fey realm? I mean, he couldn’t put out a public warrant for my arrest, but Pitch on the other hand…Still, I didn’t think he knew were together”.

“Yes…Something is off about the entire thing. Perhaps the prince fears that Pitch might interfere with his doings”.

“If the prince wanted me out of the way…because he wanted the kingship. If his goal is to claim the summer court…then…Oh my god…Pitch was one of the main advocates for the treaty that would have stopped the discord between the courts…The prince used summer power to cover up my mother’s murder. Pitch’s daughter was killed by a summer fey, or so we thought…what if?”

“The prince tried to kill Pitch and killed his daughter instead” Niall finished, that slight crease between his brows again. “That would fit…or perhaps the prince paid off that summer lord to carry out the deed. Pitch forced the lord to admit what he had done, but there could have been more to it”.

“You’re right” Jack whispered. He felt a hot surge of hatred for the faceless fey who was supposed to be his brother. The senseless murders of his mother and Pitch’s daughter and who knew how many countless others all for the sake of power. It was beyond his understanding, to commit murder for such selfish reasons. He wanted to freeze the blood of the murderous prince and shatter him into a thousand little pieces. An ill feeling rose in his stomach. The murderer was going to drive him to become one as well. What a vicious cycle.

“Are you alright?” Niall asked, peering at Jack.

Jack adjusted his leg and winced. “Yes, I’m fine”.

Niall looked dissatisfied. “Linden, please notify as many of the wild fey as possible that there will be a meeting first thing tomorrow morning”.

Linden, who had been silent though the exchange, rose. “Alright”. He stood in front of Jack and placed a fist over his heart, bowing slightly. “You have my sword when the time comes”.

Jack was almost too surprised to say anything. “…Thank you”.

Linden smiled and disappeared through an opening in the floor that Jack hadn’t noticed before.

Niall turned his piercing gaze on Jack. “There will be others like him, are you prepared to lead them? Young you may be, but you are a prince and my grandchild. In a hundred years you could be one of the most powerful fey to have lived. The king has weakened and the prince is poisonous, if we are able to bring them down who will take their place? Not a lord, they care far too much for their personal desires. You are the heir. Will you take up the mantle or let it all fall to ruin?”

“…I’ve never wanted power. I just…I just want to be free. I don’t think I would make a good ruler” Jack said helplessly.

“Sometimes those who do not want power are the ones who should have it. I can see the blood of the wild fey in you, the desire to be untethered defines our kind. It is not my wish to force the position on you and I understand your dislike of it. However, the wild fey will be far more likely to assist us if they believe that a just ruler is taking the throne. One that will protect the balance. The royal line has long remained within the same few families. Perhaps it is time for some fresh blood”.

Jack closed his eyes. His very soul rejected the idea of binding himself to such monumental responsibility, responsibility he didn’t even completely understand. “I don’t know how to be a king…I grew up believing I was a human, how am I supposed to rule a people?”

“It is in you. Lord Pitchiner, I believe, was once advisor to the king. I am sure that he would assist you in this…I will as well”.

“Do you think Pitch is alright?” Jack whispered, his heart ached at the thought of someone hurting Pitch.

“…You care for him?” Niall asked, tone hinting that he suspected Jack and Pitch of having something more than friendship between them.

“…Yes”. Jack couldn’t find any reason to deny it, he was doing all of this to rescue Pitch.

“How far are you willing to go for him?”

“All the way”.

Niall’s mouth twitched in a simile of a smile. “Yes, you are certainly your mother’s child…I do not think the prince will kill him just yet. He does not have you and he is smart enough to use what leverage he does have”.

“I hope so” Jack said, will hardening for the trials to come. 

 

Here's another fan art for you guys! Fun fact: I have a snowflake tattoo because I was born in December during an ice storm.

 


	12. Finding Courage

Jack slept horribly that night. He tossed and turned, mind held by half lucid nightmares. His leg a spike of pain. Niall had set him up in a tiny bedroom. The small, round room was an off shoot of the main living area. There seemed to be several other such off shoots, like a kind of giant floating ant hill. A porthole-like window looked out over the shifting sea of green. The walls were made of living tree like the rest of the structure. For the bed itself, there was an unrolling matt. In his odd way, Niall seemed to understand that Jack was exhausted and wanted to be alone. It had already been late when Jack had arrived in the tree house and though he had a million questions, he brain was too fuzzy with exhaustion to put many into words. Several times during the night his arm stretched across the mat, searching for Pitch. Although they had only spent two nights together, Jack’s unconscious mind still missed Pitch’s weight at his side. 

He rose when the light coming through the window began to brighten. The fey realm seemed to be stuck in some sort of eternal twilight and the difference between night and day was slight. Jack jerked in surprise when a knock came at the door. 

“Jack, I have left a change of clothes in the bathroom for you, it is the door to the left of your own…I expect you may want to clean up and change”. 

“Thank you” Jack said, a little surprised. 

But Niall was already gone. 

Using his staff, Jack hobbled out of his room and into the bathroom. It was round like all of the other spaces. The floor felt hard and smooth under his bare feet, as if the wood had solidified to a greater degree. A shower was enclosed by pale green glass in one corner. Jack was curious as to how a tree house had running water. Made of some sort of metal, the shower head was intricate, decorated by tiny leaves, each hole a miniature flower. Jack twisted a nob that matched the showerhead and a soft spray of water began to rain down. With a groan, Jack stripped off his pants. Most of the lower half was bloody. His long, blue tunic was shredded here and there, spots of blood doting the fabric. He hadn’t really realized how battered the journey into the wild wood had left him. Keeping his injured leg away from the spray, Jack closed his eyes and let the water pour over his head. It seemed to have a single temperature and Jack was glad it was lukewarm. 

Running his hand along a ledge, Jack discovered a bar of soap. It looked homemade and smelled faintly of mint. He washed his hair and scrubbed his skin. The soapy water swirled down a small drain in the floor. Pushing the nob in, Jack stuck his head out of the shower and found a towel folded neatly on a shelf just below an ovular window. Dripping slightly, he limped out of the shower, towel drying his silvery locks. There was a mirror set over a sink and counter fashioned of the same hardened wood as the floor. Peering at his reflection, Jack poked at the dark rings below his eyes. His face looked drawn and pale and he suspected that blood loss had a hand in his exhaustion. But there was no time for rest, Pitch needed him. 

Niall had laid some new clothes out. The material was soft and buttery, as fey clothes seemed to be. It was dark green in color, almost dark enough to be black. Jack slipped the fabric over his head and tugged it down his body. It was long, almost like the robes Pitch wore. He tripped into some matching leggings, the material soft, but strong. On the chest was a lace, Jack cinched it tight and straightened the deep hood. There was a stitched pattern of leaves around the neck. Jack wondered if the pattern was Niall’s signature design or a crest of some sort. 

He didn’t know how Niall had found something in his size so quickly, his grandfather was both taller and thinner than he. Using his staff again, Jack hopped across the floor in search of him. He found Niall in a small kitchen on the other side of the tree house. 

“Thanks for the clothes” Jack said awkwardly. 

Niall inclined his head “You are welcome…It is the least I can do for my only family”. 

“…We don’t have any other relations?” 

“Sadly, no. We are the last. I know we do not know one another well, but that is something I hope to remedy in the future…And when this situation has come to end, you have a place here. If you would like one, that is”. 

“…I can live here, with you?” Jack was both shocked and a little touched. With how little Niall’s face betrayed, he hadn’t been sure if his grandfather had any real interest in cultivating a relationship. 

“Yes, if you would like” Niall said, the corner of his mouth curling up slightly. 

“I…Thank you”. 

“Although, you may wish to wait and see what that Kozmotis would like to do as well”. 

“You’re probably right…If I manage to get him back that is”. Jack sagged against one of the walls and scrubbed a hand over his eyes. 

“My dear boy, if fate has carried you this far I do believe it will bring the two of you together once more” he offered Jack a slight smile and gestures him toward a chair. 

Jack sat and accepted a plate with several slices of still warm bread. It was dotted with seeds and smeared with butter. A cup of tea was placed at his side. Suddenly Jack’s chest tightened and he felt the urge to cry. He did have family. He had Pitch and now Niall. Niall who was acting like an actual grandparent and making him breakfast, inviting him to stay. 

“Is something the matter?” Niall asked him, picking his own breakfast apart with long fingers. 

“No…I’m just feeling grateful”. 

“Always a good way to be”. 

They spent the next few minutes in silence. Jack didn’t mind. Companionable silence was something he’d always valued. 

“We had best head to the meeting shortly, most of them will have gathered by now”. Niall said after the last morsel of bread had passed his lips. 

Jack nodded and brushed his hands together. “…I don’t know how I’m going to fight with my leg like this” he said, tapping his thigh. 

Niall considered him. “I believe there is a place we need to visit before the meeting”. 

“Ok?” 

Noiselessly, Niall stood and waited for Jack to follow. They exited the tree house through the back. Jack hadn’t seen the outside yet, having been unconscious when he’d arrived. It grew straight from the tree, forming the rounded structure. Niall stepped from the un-railed platform and into open space, his robes billowing up. The ground was stories below. He rose a moment later, hair rippling in the breeze. Unlike Jack, he didn’t tumble and slide through the air. His balance was perfect and he surfed his wind with a breathtaking grace. 

“I believe your ability to join me should not be hindered by that leg” Niall called to Jack. 

Jack closed his mouth. It somehow felt like Niall was goading him. He created a breeze of his own and took to the air. They skimmed over tree tops under the faint stars. Here and there Jack could see structures in the trees or a bridge spanning the space between. They ascended onto a platform set into the top of one of the giants. Jack stumbled upon landing, but was able to right himself using his staff. An odd tingle raced over his skin. Waiting for Niall to straighten his robes, Jack looked around. Like Niall’s home, the platform was smooth wood and a good twenty feet across. Branches grew up around the sides, making a natural barricade. 

“This place is special” Niall said, tucking his hands inside his sleeves. 

“It does feel a bit…tingly?” Jack said curiously. 

“That is one way to put it…The passage of time in the fey realm is very different than that of the human one. Here, time runs slowly. There are places, small spaces and pockets where time itself comes almost to a standstill”. 

“Is this one of those places?” Jack asked. It didn’t seem so different. 

“Yes, the space here inside the platform. It was built to make use of the anomaly. A number of days can pass here whilst only a few minutes have gone by beyond the border of branches”. 

“I see…and we’re here because?” 

“You need to heal and I am going to teach you how to fight”. 

Jack felt a surge of apprehension. He needed to go. Pitch…but how much use would he be injured and unable to fight? Despite the urge to rush off to Pitch’s rescue, Jack forced himself to stay put. A few minutes was more than an even trade to gain the strength needed for the fight ahead. 

“Good, you are already learning some control” Niall said, silvery eyes sparked with amusement. 

“I’m just learning to look ahead…I’m not used to looking out for others. Most of my life I’ve had to worry about staying safe in the moment…I suppose living that way doesn’t give you much of a chance to think of the future”. 

“Well said. The fact that you have come to understand that about yourself means you have already grown past the person you were before”.

“I suppose I have” Jack said, thinking of who he had been before meeting Pitch. 

Folding neatly, Niall sat in the center of the space and gestured for Jack to do the same across from him. 

Sticking his bad leg out, Jack sat 

“What do you know of your abilities?” 

“Mmm…Snow, ice, wind…pretty much anything to do with winter. I can create snow storms or draw in clouds, but I’ve only been able to do that a couple of times and it saps most of my strength. I can use my staff to channel my abilities, but I haven’t had much of a chance to practice with it yet…I got it just before coming to the fey realm”. 

“It is rare for a fey child to inherit such an extent of power from both mother and father. You seem to have new abilities brought about by the union of the two, although I know little of the king’s true power…Considering that your staff is the only weapon you possess, we will begin there. With all fey abilities the mental component must be mastered before the physical manifestation can be controlled”. 

“I think Pitch was trying to teach me some of that, like how to locate the source of my ability and release less of it…I’m afraid we didn’t get very far”. 

“Then you already understand some of the basics. Much of the process is about mental visualization, over time control will come more naturally. It could be compared to learning a language; firstly you must learn the letters and words before speaking”. 

“Alright, how am I going to learn an entire ‘language’ in a couple of days?” 

“It will be hard, but I suspect that you have the motivation to do so”. 

Jack sighed. “True”. 

Niall steepled his fingers in that way that reminded Jack of Pitch.

“Close your eyes”. 

Jack did so, the faint light pink through his closed eye lids. 

“Find your core”. 

It was easier now to touch mental fingers to the well of power inside of his being. Jack felt it shift slightly as his awareness turned toward it, like a ripple. 

“In fey as naturally gifted as yourself it can be a constant battle between the strength of your ability and your will. Your will has to become stronger. Imagine drawing power from your center, the way it passes through your arm and into the staff. The staff itself should be like another limb. You control the flow. Now, open your eyes” 

Jack opened his eyes. He could almost feel the staff thrumming with contained power. Niall stood and walked to the border of the space. Rising as well, Jack grit his teeth. The cold wanted out. With a piece of chalk, Niall marked an x on one of the wider branches. 

“Try and hit it” he said, stepping away. 

Jack aimed and released the pent up power. It careened wildly though the air in a blast and rocked the branches as it made contact next to the x. 

“Damn” Jack cursed. 

Niall shook his head. “You did not listen”. 

“I did! I visualized it and everything…my aim’s just not very good”. 

Niall regarded him expressionlessly. “Does your power cease to be yours once it leaves your person?” 

“No…What does that have to do with it?” 

“You stopped focusing when it left your staff. You should not have stopped until it came in contact with the target”. 

“Are you saying I can steer it?” 

“In a sense. Try again”. 

Jack drew another chunk of power forth and let it run through his body and into the staff. This time he didn’t remove his focus from the bolt of cold. Squinting, he focused on the target and released, keeping his mind with the lightning quick missile until it slammed into the branch and split it down the middle. “Wow”. 

“Much better” Nile said. “Now that you understand the idea we can make it a bit more challenging”. He gathered a small stack of the giant leaves that grew from the tree below. 

“What are those for?” Jack asked curiously. 

“They are your new targets”. Niall threw the leaves into the air and keeping his hands up, he made them float. “Try to keep it focused, you do not always need such a large blast”. 

Jack focused again and sent several bolts at the leaves. There were five leaves in all. He was almost certain that he’d hit three of them, but the leaves shifted before Jack could make contact. 

“Hey, I can’t hit them if they move like that” he said, a little frustrated. 

“Do you think an enemy will sit still whilst you attempt to destroy them? No. You must learn to split your focus to both moving and multiple targets. Again”. 

They kept at for hours. Finally, Jack collapsed onto the platform, exhausted. He’d succeeded. Niall had made the leaves fly all around the space until Jack could hit a number in quick succession. Sitting beside him, Niall pulled a thermos from a pack he’d brought along. 

“How is your injury?” he asked, pouring them both cups of cooled tea. 

Jack looked down at his leg. “I haven’t been paying it too much attention, that little exercise took most of my focus” he said, injecting just a hint of sarcasm. Really, he was grateful to Niall for teaching him. Gingerly, he squeezed the bandage, gauging the amount of pain. It still ached, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as it been the day before or hours earlier for that matter. “Better”. His fey healing was working quickly. 

“That is good to hear” Niall passed Jack a fresh roll covered in seeds. 

Jack murmured his thanks and bit into the bread. It was delicious and stuffed with some kind of cheese. 

“You are improving greatly…I would even go so far to say that you are gifted”. 

Jack blushed slightly “You’re just supposed to say that”. 

Niall looked at him “Why?” 

“Because you’re my grandfather”. 

Niall actually smiled a full smile, his lips curving up and the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Perhaps”. 

Jack smiled too and sipped at his sweet, floral tea. 

“In time I believe you will become a formidable warrior, you do have a natural gift. However, the people we are about to face have been training for hundreds of years. You must be careful”. 

Jack shook his head “You sound like Pitch”. 

“Then perhaps you will be more inclined to abide by such advice as you have now received it twice”. 

“I’ll be careful, but I’m going to do whatever it takes to get him back”. 

“I expect nothing less, I simply ask that you keep caution in mind”. 

“I will” Jack said. It felt odd to now have two people who genuinely worried about him. 

“You should take some rest, we’ll move to close combat next” Niall told him. 

Jack caught a blanket Niall tossed to him. He wasn’t sure how long they’d practiced for, but he was tired enough to sleep. The sky above the space was exactly as it had been when they’d entered. Laying on the blanket, Jack wondered why they weren’t frozen in the timeless pocket. It was just another mystery he was grateful for. Soon, he drifted into a deeper sleep than the one he’d had the night before. 

Dream after dream of the soldiers killing Pitch in various ways violated Jack’s sleeping mind. Finally, he was shaken awake by Niall who was leaning over him concernedly. 

“You were having a bad dream” he said softly, hand remaining on Jack’s shoulder for a moment longer, the pressure gentle. 

Jack’s chest felt tight and his eyes moist. “…I know”. 

“Do you have them often?” 

“Often enough…Can we get back to training?” 

Niall wordlessly offered Jack a hand and pulled him up with a strength bellying his thin stature. From the pack Niall pulled a disjointed handful of sticks. Popping the ends together, the sticks formed a long, slender staff. For the next few hours Niall taught Jack how to block close range attacks using his staff and then how to strike. Slowly but surely Jack amassed a number of bruises. By the end he was panting again, but had the basics down. Not that his staff would make a great weapon against a sword. He wondered how strong the wood truly was.

Sitting again, Jack pondered an idea he’d had for a while. “How strong do you think ice can become?” he asked Niall. 

“As hard as your understanding of it. The very wood we sit on was hardened by those with nature abilities. I myself can use wind to cut and slice, but that took me a number of years to master and can be dangerous to allies if not controlled properly”. 

“I’m going to try something” Jack said, sitting straighter and shutting his eyes. Picturing what he wanted, Jack focused on the very molecules of the ice. Imagined each one hardening to diamond strength and growing into the shape he desired. Minutes passed before he opened his eyes. Niall remained silent. In his hand was a sword. The blade was about as long as his arm and glinted blue-white, the edges almost clear. Both the guard and hilt held a similar twisted pattern to that of the wood on his staff, making it easier to grip. 

“That is quite the weapon” Niall said softly. “But will it hold?” 

Gripping the sword with both hand, Jack swung at a thick branch. The blade sung through the air, shining like stained glass. It passed through the branch as if the wood were cold butter. Jack winced as the branch crashed through the foliage. 

Niall was beside him in a second. “Jack, do you know what this means?” 

“I can make badass weapons?” 

“It is possible for you to create weapons at a moment’s notice…or anything for that matter. Keys…Pitch is most likely locked in the winter prison” Niall said, his tone picking up slightly. 

Jack looked down at the sword again with renewed pleasure. “You’re right…If I can harden ice to this level I can protect my staff as well”. 

“Yes. This turns the odds only slightly, but it is still a great advantage. You should be able to apply the techniques I have taught you…I believe it is time for us to head to the meeting”. 

“Really? You think I’m ready?” 

“I have taught you the basics, you have the skill. Fluidity will come with time. It will surprise you how easily these things come in a fight for your life…or the life of a loved one”. 

Jack rubbed the scar on his back. “I’ve frozen up before, what if it happens again?” 

“As you said yourself, you are not the same person you once were. Use that anger and pain. Let it become your strength”. 

Jack nodded slowly. Perhaps all of his trials had led to this moment and he’d been holding back for a long time. He let the ice sword melt away. His leg had twinged throughout his mock fight with Niall, but it barely irked him now. Kneeling, he unwrapped the bandages. Two shiny holes on either side of his calf marked the place the arrow had passed through. Leaning his full weight on the appendage he was glad to find that it wasn’t painful enough to inhibit him any longer. He hadn’t worn his boots, he liked to feel the ground beneath his feet and the fey, unlike humans, were unlikely to look at him strangely for going barefoot. “I’m ready then”. 

The meeting was in a wide clearing. Purple flowers bloomed throughout its short grasses and chimed faintly when touched. A host of strange creatures milled around its boarders. Niall explained quietly that the fey present were representatives of groups and races. Titles used loosely as many of the wild fey were solitary beings. When Niall walked to the center of the clearing all of the voices hushed and heads covered in a variety of strange ears, horns and other projections turned towards him. 

“I have discovered a great treachery” Niall said, voice carrying despite its low volume. “Many of you know that I lost my daughter some years ago. I thought this to be the work of a summer fey, a casualty of politics, but it goes beyond that. She was murdered by the winter prince. Few of you know this, but she was engaged to the king. Had had his child” 

A low murmur of voices broke out at that. 

“Quiet please. Jack, come here”. 

Jack startled and nervously joined his grandfather. 

“This is my grandchild. He has survived the years since his mother’s passing by hiding in the human world. The prince did not want competition for the throne and attempted to take Jack’s life after taking my daughter’s. The king does not know of this betrayal and the prince has taken advantage of the fact to use the royal armies to claim more land for the winter court. This has gone far beyond a simple border skirmishes. The balance has already begun to tip in the human realm”. 

The noise rose again. 

“I am not finished!” Niall said, raising his voice slightly. “I am sure you all remember Kozmotis Pitchiner, his voice was one of the strongest in favor of the treaty that would have brought a measure of peace between the courts. The prince sought to take his life and finding Pitch absent, took the life of his daughter instead. Wrongfully, he was forced to run. Upon his return, Lord Pitchiner was imprisoned. The prince has betrayed his people, his family and his honor. He is a poison that must be removed. If he remains I fear that the balance could tip entirely and send all realms into chaos, in his mad desire for power he does not see this! Not today, but someday his evils will reach this forest…My grandson is the rightful heir, he will restore the balance!” Niall turned to Jack then, as if waiting for him to say something. 

Too many strangely colored eyes turned toward him, many glowing. Jack froze for a moment. He hadn’t expected to make a speech. And then he remembered. Taking a deep breath he reached for all of the pain and rage he’d forced down for so long. All of the wrongs he’d locked in a little box. Every black anger. Letting it consume him, he hardened it into a fierce, unwavering courage. Blood lust and vengeance sang through him, screaming for vindication. Raising his staff into the air, Jack released a great bolt of power. 

“FIGHT WITH ME!” he cried, the word tearing from his throat. 

A great cacophony of shrieks, yells and other unearthly sounds filled the air. The wild fey raised their limbs and weapons high, cheering their approval. 

The crowd dispersed almost immediately, disappearing through the trees. 

Niall turned to Jack, an odd expression on his face. “You found your courage. They will follow you in this…I am proud of you”. 

Jack was taken aback. “…I think you’re the first person to have said that to me”. 

A slight crease appeared between Niall’s brows. “Then the ones who raised you did you a great injustice”. 

“Tell me about it” Jack said. His skin felt too tight and he itched to run, to fly, to fight. He’d called forth the wild dark within himself and now it wanted to stretch. “Where are they going?” Jack asked Niall. 

“To gather their forces. We will meet them at the forests edge” Niall dropped his pack and reached down inside. From the depths he pulled a sheathed long sword. The case decorated with leaves and vines. 

“Is that bag bigger on the inside or something?” Jack asked, measuring the sword and the bag with his eyes. 

“Probably” Niall said, strapping his sword on. 

Jack shook his head. The fey seemed to have a general fondness for almost-answers. “Shouldn’t we think of some sort of strategy for the attack?” 

“The wild fey are just that; wild. They will not work together in a coordinated manner. There is advantage in chaos…The level of discord we’re about to unleash on that poor army is a strategy unto itself”. 

“I guess that makes sense” Jack said, feeling his owl wildness humming. 

Wedging his pack into the hollow of a tree, Niall rose slowly into the air. Jack joined him. They flew between the giant trees, heading for the edge of the wood. 

When they finally broke through the tree line a massive force had already gathered. Jack had seen herds of centaurs and other strange fey making their way along the forest floor. Fey with great grey wings flew above them, looking about with owl eyes. When the army spotted Jack a great cheer went up. Raising his staff, Jack flew toward the winter court.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, sorry this chapter was a few days later than intended. I started a new job and I've slowly been getting sick. It's hard to write when your nose has turned into some kind of evil faucet. Anyways, this is the last 'set up' chapter before the battle! I'm kind of excited to write it. Sadly, we're getting close to the end as well. I'll probably finish the story at around fifteen chapters. Don't worry, the end will definitely be epic! I'm super grateful to those leaving me comments and kudos, I feel the love! 
> 
> Expect the next chapter around the first of May. :)
> 
> ~Winterberry 
> 
> (No doodle today, sorry!)


	13. The Battle

Jack wished he could call forth a hurricane. Anything to get there faster. The wild fey ran, galloped, scuttled and loped down below. He willed the winds to grow stronger, Pitch needed him. His stomach was a roiling mess of knots. Some part of him, the hopeful part, believed that if Pitch had been killed he would have known. Would have felt something. Now that he was close, other fears and worries nagged at Jack. How would Pitch feel when they were back together again? What if Pitch felt that their relationship was based on some ancient fey connection? The bond between the royal line and the Pitchiners. According to Una, it was that bond that’d pulled them together in the first place, like two attracting magnets. No. Jack didn’t believe that. It may have been the bond that had brought them together, but what he felt, the fact that he’d chosen to stay by Pitch’s side despite his fears, that was something beyond.

He was going to kill the prince. Kill his own brother. His rage growled in pleasure at the thought, but a faint nausea rose in his chest along with it. He’d never killed anyone before…but he would. After all those years of no one and nothing he would kill to protect his loved ones. Even his own brother. It was hard to think of faceless stranger as his brother. Nor did he want to be brothers with someone who had committed such a number of hateful and selfish crimes. What could their father be like to have raised such a son? What had the man who supposed to be the king been doing? Jack was going to ask him. It was all so twisted. Glancing to the side, he watched Niall surf the air. In him at least, Jack had found family. A piece of the mother he’d never known and never would know. He would worry about the throne after Pitch was safe and the battle had ended.

The spires of the court had begun to materialize on the horizon. Niall glided over to Jack’s side. “Remember what I taught you and do not become separated from our force. If the prince or any of the royal guard catch you alone, they will not hesitate to take your life”.

Jack nodded. “Do you know where they’ll be keeping Pitch?”

“In the vaults below the court... According to rumor they arequite vast. I think I shall accompany you if we are to find Lord Pitchiner”.

Jack shook his heads. “I can’t ask you to do that”.

“I know you did not ask. Besides, it is foolishness to enter that place alone. Labyrinth of convoluted workings that it is”.

Jack wanted to argue, but it wasn’t the time. They all had stakes in this battle. “Alright”.

The battlements were high around the court. Great walls of glossy, black stone. They were within a hundred feet of them now. A clatter of sound came from below as hundreds of blades were drawn. The centaurs, many of them at the front, drew their bows. Figures rose from the battlements, wings spread wide to catch the breeze. They floated there. Jack wondered what they were waiting for. He gripped his staff tighter. A shout came from behind the wall. Over the onyx stone flew a volley of flaming arrows. Their glow filled the sky with an orange light, like a great, flaming cloud. Niall put on a burst of speed and threw his arm out in a wide cutting motion. An immense arc of wind blasted outward. It blew the arrows out and away like so many twigs.

“My turn!” Jack shouted as a premature victory cry began to rise up from below. Aiming his staff at the wall, he gathered a great blast of ice within himself. The winged guards were now swooping toward them. With a release of breath, Jack fired his mass of frigid energy into the base of the wall. A massive boom shook the ground as the missile found its mark. The force was enough to blast a hole straight through the wall.

“GO!” Jack shouted at the wild fey as they sprinted for the opening. He had just enough time to ice his staff before a sword swung down toward his head. The blade skittered off the slick exterior of his weapon. The winged fey wore black armor. Despite facing off with a more experienced foe, Jack didn’t feel at a disadvantage. It was already obvious that the armor weighed the fey down and his wings made it difficult for him to turn quickly. Jack, who could freely move through the air, was much faster. Metal on metal clashed and reverberated below. With a darting movement, Jack skated around the winged fey in midair. Huge, dark wings drove through the air and buffeted jack. Eyes like shining coals glowed from under the fey’s helm and he let out a frightening bird-like shriek as he looped his sword down and around at Jack again. Ducking the blow altogether, Jack shot up and over the fey. Bringing his staff down, he cracked the soldier over the head. Like a whirly jig, the fey plummeted toward the ground.

Jack hoped the fey lived. He didn’t want to kill those who were just following orders. Still, it was going to happen. This was a battle. Already breathing hard, he looked about, searching for Niall. White hair whipping in the wind, Niall was trading blows with a fey very like the one Jack had just defeated. Transfixed for a moment, Jack watched the flurry. In a blurred movement, Niall twirled his blade around the other fey’s, sending it flying through the air. Wrapping both hands around the hilt of his sword, Niall pierced the soldier’s shoulder. Weeping scarlet drops, the fey descended toward the ground, just managing to glide rather than drop. Niall let him go, whipping his sword through the air to clean it of its red coating.

Niall turned, as if feeling Jack’s gaze. “LOOK OUT!” He cried.

Jack turned just in time to watch the tip of a sword pass inches before his nose. Without thinking, he released a blast of ice, freezing the right wing of the attacking fey. With a screech, the fey fell. In front of him, the wild owl fey were blocking most of the aerial attack, throwing dozens of small knives at the soldiers. Below, the rest of the wild fey were attempting to push their way through the gap Jack had created, but the royal guard were still managing to block the entry point. Niall joined him.

“We will have to try our luck on the ground, the chance of breaking through the sky guard is slim to none”.

Jack nodded. Flying through the fight above would be akin to passing through a wood chipper.

The ground was already soaked with blood. The metallic smell was sickeningly strong. Jack crouched as a thick tree root shot over his head and wrapped around one of the guards. With a horrible crunch, the fey was slammed into the wall, leaving a dark smear on the black stone. Like a retracting tape measure, the root curved backward through the air. Jack followed it with his eyes. It retreated into a raised wrist attached to a hand that waved at Jack. It was Linden, his green eyes glowing madly through a mask of blood. He sat atop the back of centaur with the body of a towering Clydesdale, who was firing arrow after arrow at the royal guard lining the top of the wall.

It was impossible to remain motionless for long, the fey army was pouring from the gap like ants, their black armor reflecting the faint light. Pitch was inside those walls somewhere, under the earth and stone. An arrow whizzed past Jack’s cheek, leaving a thin, red line. Jack hissed at the sting. Niall pushed between the bodies, his blade singing, his face twisted into a fierce frown. Switching his staff to his left hand, Jack pushed ice from his right hand, shaping it with his mind into diamond hardness. Following the ripple of Niall’s waterfall of hair, Jack fought his way forward. The wild fey parted for him, many of them cheering as he passed. A fawn fell before him, an arrow piercing his chest. Jack watched as the spark faded from his eyes. He wanted to stop and pull the fallen fey away from the carnage, but the blade of an axe swung toward him before he could do more than take a step.

The soldier wielding the axe was huge. Jack crossed his sword and staff, using them as a shield. A deep, booming laugh echoed out of the soldier’s helm.

“I’m going to crush you, puny little pixie” he continued to laugh and pushed against Jack’s weapons with a frightening brute strength.

Jack felt his knees begin to buckle. They slammed into the blood-churned earth. He wasn’t going to last. Suddenly, he realized that his staff was pointing right at…Jack released a jagged bold of icy energy straight at the larger fey’s head. It encased the helm and rocked the soldiers head back. The great axe dropped to the ground with a thud and the soldier fell backward like a tree cut off at the roots. Flashes of light and flared here and there across the battle field as fey fought with their abilities. Stumbling up, Jack continued after Niall who was already bleeding from a long, deep cut on his forearm. Just as he reached his grandfather, a horrible, ghostly wail rose somewhere on the field.

“What is that!?” Jack asked Niall, who casually blasted a soldier back with a concentrated burst of wind.

“A banshee”.

Jack shivered “It’s awful”.

“It is the tidings of death”.

The moans and gurgles of the dying filled the air like a terrible music. Limbs and bodies had already begun to litter the ground. Bile rose in Jack’s throat. He didn’t have time to get sick, didn’t have time to be afraid. Hesitation meant death and failure. There wasn’t room for failure. Jack growled in frustration, the gap wasn’t large enough for their forces to push through. Currently, the battle was at a tie, both sides taking equal losses. Suddenly, Jack had an idea. Wildly, he whipped his head about, searching for Linden amongst to massacre. Finally, Jack spotted him near the gap, smashing fey to the ground with his branch-like projections.

“I have an idea! We have to get to Linden!” Jack shouted.

“Stay behind me!” Niall said, raising his sword.

Jack followed, warding off any blows aimed at Niall’s back. Green robes twirling, Niall cut down soldiers without hesitation, his leaf-patterned blade a silver blur. In a single movement, he stabbed through a gap in one of the soldier’s armor, yanked it free and spun to decapitate another. They were past the headless body before it fell. When they reached Linden, Jack’s clothes were soaked in blood and he bore several long, deep scratches and a dozen bruises. His breathing was heavy and a red mist hung in the air.

“LINDEN!” Jack shouted through the noise.

Both Linden and the centaur looked over at Jack. Linden was grinning and the centaur’s long, black hair was matted with mud and blood. His broad sword coated with vicarage and the quiver on his broad back empty of arrows.

“WHAT?” Linden shouted down to him, cleaving the helm of a passing fey soldier.

“I HAVE A-” Jack heard the whistle of a sword and turned to block a blow aimed to lop off his head. He pushed back against the sword and stabbed his own at the guard’s chest. So sharp was his ice blade that it passed through the armor and into the fey’s torso. The soldier fell sideways with a rattling breath. Jack’s insides felt cold. He’d just killed someone. Leaning over, he threw up onto the already fluid covered ground. Rising, Jack violently wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, smearing the blood on his face. “I HAVE A PLAN!”

Linden reached down and pulled Jack up onto the back of the centaur by the collar of his robes. “Talk”.

“If we get close, can you use your ability to widen that gap?” Jack asked him, pointing at the wall.

Linden pulled something from his pocket. It looked like a giant seed. “Definitely”.

“Alright, Niall and I will stay on either side of you and we’ll make a break for it”.

“Got it” Linden said and Niall nodded.

Linden grabbed Jack by the back of his robes again and lowered him to the ground. “Elden, head for the gap!” The centaur raised his broadsword and with Jack and Niall on either side, they cut a bloody path to the wall.

A griffon crashed to the earth just to their left, narrowly missing Niall. The occasional arrow still whizzed toward them, cutting through the mass of fey fighting above. Linden cried out and Jack looked up, terrified that he might discover the worst. An arrow protruded from Linden’s shoulder.

“KEEP GOING! Linden shouted, snapping off the end of the arrow and pulling out.

Jack gritted his teeth and pushed forward. They reached the wall. A pile of bodies was already stacked at its base.

“CATCH!” Linden shouted to Jack. He tossed the seed.

Jack barely caught it, juggling his sword and staff “What do I do with it?!”

“Bury it at the base of the wall!” Linden shouted back, hand pressed to his wound.

The entire area was swarming with soldiers. “Shit, COVER ME!” Jack tucked his sword and staff under one arm and ran for the wall, crouching, weaving and ducking as he ran. A sword passed over his head, grazing his hair. At the base of the black wall, Jack dug in the wet soil with his nails and shoved the seed into the ground. He didn’t look up until the job was finished, trusting Linden and Niall to protect his back. Just in time, he looked up to watch the tip of a blade pass through a soldier’s chest.

Niall yanked his sword free with a squelch.

“Thanks!” Jack shouted at him.

Niall nodded and swung around to cut down another soldier.

“MOVE!” Linden yelled at Jack.

Jack dove sideways as Linden shot a green bolt of energy into the place the seed had been buried. Almost immediately, a shoot sprouted from the rust colored earth. It grew and grew, roots pushing up the soil. The trunk expanded, pushing at the wall until the black stone crumbled. Up toward the sky it pushed, branches spreading and leaves springing to life. They unfurled, bright and full of life. By the time it stopped growing, the roots and branches had destroyed a huge portion of the wall. Many of those in the direct area had stopped fighting simply to watch the massive tree rise.

Jack yelped in surprise when he was lifted bodily onto the back of the centaur again.

Linden’s voice came from behind him. “Elden, get us across!”

“Hold on!” the centaur cried out, lurching forward.

Jack was forced to grab onto Elden’s broad shoulders. Looking up, he could see Niall just above them. It was a miracle that everyone in their small party was still alive. Worriedly, Jack turned to look at Linden when he felt the fey sway behind him. Linden’s face was ashen and the front of his brown bark armor was soaked in blood. It was impossible to tell how much of it was his own. Reaching back, Jack grasped Linden’s arm in a bid to keep him from falling. Elden leapt into the air, gliding over a number of soldiers. They passed the wall, skirting rubble and prone bodies. It was up to Jack to deflect most of the blow’s aimed at Elden’s back quarters. The mass of soldiers on the other side of the wall clustered around them, hacking at any exposed bit of flesh. Niall landed in front of Elden at a crouch. Sheathing his sword, he swung his right arm up and brought it down in an arcing motion. The entire mass of soldiers directly in front of them stood frozen. Almost all at once, red bloomed across the soldier’s fronts. They fell one by one. Some nearly cut in half.

“Over here” Niall said, striding behind a mound of rubble. It was tall enough to hide them from the remaining soldiers and in the confusion brought about by Niall’s cutting wind no one noticed them.

Jack slid from Elden’s back, legs jarring on impact with the ground. Linden was sliding off, his eyes half shut and heavily shadowed. Quickly, Jack dropped his sword and staff, reaching up to steady Linden. Elden kneeled, his horse legs folding. Carefully, Jack supporting Linden’s weight.

Elden rose and turned. “Give him to me, I will care for him” he said in a deep, reverberating voice. Holding out broad forearms, Elden took Linden.

“I will be fine, it is not necessary to fret over me” Linden said weakly.

“For you, this battle is over. Two more inches and that arrow would have pierced your heart” Elden said, a slight frown on his wide, chiseled features.

“I will be fine” Linden muttered again before his eyes closed.

Jack looked at Eldon worriedly.

“He just passed out, he used a lot of energy on that tree. It will take him a little time to recover” Eldon said, glancing at Linden.

“Put these on” Niall passed Jack pieces of black armor. Taken from the plentiful dead.

A few minutes later Jack and Niall stood, outfitted in the black armor of the guard.

“Bring an end to the wrongs of the court” Elden said, inclining his head.

Jack nodded and saluted Elden before running toward the court’s main structure with Niall. None of the guards tried to stop them. They were just two more nondescript soldiers. The towering front doors, covered in intricate carvings of fey, pushed inward with a low creak. Servants were running here and there across the domed entry. The ceiling was glass, showcasing the stars. Murals of ancient battles decorated the walls and the floor was a shining black mirror of marble. Stars reflected in its surface. A huge staircase spiraled upward, the railings intricately wrought flowers and branches. There were other doors lining the floor they stood on. The room itself had a beautiful sort of disarray about it. Even the chandelier was comprised of intercrossing branches and covered in blooming wisteria. Tiny, purple faery light danced around the flowers.

“Where do we go?” Jack whispered to Niall.

Niall tapped the shoulder of a passing servant. “Miss, where might we find the door to the lower levels? We are meant to check on the prisoners, but have never been to that part of the court”.

The fey women pointed toward a door on the side of the stair case before scurrying away. It looked like the door to a broom closet. Jack turned the knob. It was unlocked. Silently, it swung open to reveal a steep staircase heading straight down into the dark. Only a few feet of the stairs were illuminated. Holding his sword and staff before him, Jack descended down into the dark. Niall’s footsteps tread softly just behind him. What faint illumination they’d had to begin with disappeared quickly. Jack had to feel his way down each step, the stone was smooth beneath his feet. Blood and dirt flaked away invisibly. It was caked onto his feet. Now that Jack was away from the battle field he was becoming aware of a myriad of cuts on his feet and the rest of his body. Both he and Niall remained silent. Drafts of cool, earthy air blew up the passage toward them. Not that the chill bothered Jack.

Ten minutes passed and a flickering light became visible up ahead. Jack could almost hear his heart hammering in the silence. Could Pitch feel his fear yet? Did he know that Jack was coming for him? Pressing his back against one wall, Niall across from him, Jack crept down the last of the steps to peer through the roughly hewn doorway. There were guards on either side. He beckoned Niall and they both ascended a distance.

“There are two guards, possibly more” Jack whispered.

Niall considered for a moment. “I will take care of them, you go on ahead”.

“Are you sure?”

“I can take care of them easily enough and this was always your true mission, correct?”

“…Yes”.

“Then go take back what is yours”.

Jack smiled crookedly through the blood coating his face. “That I will do”.

They concocted a quick plan. Jack was going to fly straight past the guards and Niall would stop them following.

Leaping off the fourth to last step, Jack took to the air and shot past the soldiers on a blast. Before he could look back the crash of metal on metal was already echoing along the tunnel. The packed earthen walls curved away from the entrance and Jack quickly lost sight of Niall. Torch brackets marked the walls every fifteen feet or so. Jack was forced to come to a screeching halt when he reached a fork. He stood before the two tunnels without a clue as to which he should choose. Wracking his brain, he searched for some bit of knowledge that would make the decision easier.

“Gandalf, you’re a genius” he whispered. Jack stood in front of one tunnel and inhaled the air before doing the same with the other. One simply smelled of dank earth. The other held a faint scent of what could only be described as death. Rot and old blood. “I say the fowl tunnel is more likely to have prisoners at the end” Jack whispered to the semi dark. Suddenly, he missed Niveous. She’d always listened to him talk into the air. The prince was going to pay.

Jack flew, the torches passing in an orange blur. The tunnel kept on and on and on. Half an hour went by and it showed no signs of ending. Something wasn’t right. However rarely, royalty and military visited prisoners or escorted them below. They wouldn’t take the trouble of walking for hours to do so. Slowing, Jack paused beside a wall. With the tip of his sword he scratched a large x into the dirt. Continuing on down the tunnel, Jack kept an eye on the wall. A few minutes passed and he skidded to a halt. There was his x. Somehow he was flying in a great loop. Or…was it some kind of magic? Jack remembered an old trick to navigate mazes. Landing on the dirt floor, he pressed his right hand against the right wall and began to walk. Moments passed before Jack’s hand went straight through the wall. Feeling along the dirt, he discovered the shape of an archway. Closing his eyes, he walked through. It felt like walking through water. On the other side, Jack touched his clothes to see if they were wet, but no, just the blood. There was a single light a short distance ahead. It flickered wanly beside a double door.

Jack walked to the door. It was the only other way in or out of the space. There were two large knockers on either side of the double door and two key holes side by side. He stared at it, pondering how to get inside. It wasn’t as if he was about the knock and alert whoever was on the other side to his presence. Suddenly, a voice spoke.

“Do you have the keys or not?” it said grumpily.

Jack looked up, there was a mouth on the door knocker and it was speaking. He put a hand to his heart. He’d just about jumped out of his skin.

“The hell…No, I don’t have any keys”.

“Well then, what are you doing here?” said the mouth on the knocker opposite the first.

“I need to get in” Jack told the mouths.

“What will you give us if we let you in?” said the first mouth.

“Uh…What do you mean?” Jack asked, confused.

The second mouth grinned widely, displaying two rows of terrifyingly realistic teeth, each one pointed. “Perhaps a finger…or maybe an eyeball. I haven’t had any eyeballs in a while. The texture is so lovely” it said reminiscently.

Jack shuddered violently. No way was he giving the door from hell any body parts. “No…wait! I do have keys”.

“Well, why did you stand there blathering then? Fool creature” said the fist knocker.

“Awww, but I’m hungry!” said the second.

Jack pressed his hands to the twin key holes, keeping well away from the mouths. They seemed likely to bite. Forcing his ice into the little spaces inside of the locks, he turned them. Double clicks sounded in the air and the thick wood door swung inward. Quickly, Jack shut it behind him.

The cry of “Eyyyyyee baaaallllllsssss!” was quickly cut off.

Jack heaved a sigh of relief, but the sensation was short lived. There was no way that Niall would be able to follow him and he wasn’t sure if he and Pitch would be able to get back out. Those worries would have to come later. The floors here were stone. Grey and splotched here and there with mystery substances. On both sides were small, bared spaces. Jack ran to the first. There was a skeleton inside. A plump rat ran through the bars. Fey hell, rat heaven. Every cell was much the same. Some empty, some housing remains in different states of decay. What had happened to the prisoners? Long and corridor like, the room went on and on. Jack couldn’t see the end. Eventually, he began to run, desperate to find Pitch. The torches grew fewer and fewer.

Finally, through the dark, Jack could see a chink of white light. It wasn’t the same as the warm light of the torches. Jack slowed, panting. The light was coming through a cracked doorway. It was the only door at the end of the space. Fashioned of black metal, it reminded Jack of the armor worn by the fey guard. Slowly, he reached a shaking hand out and pulled it open. It took his eyes a moment to adjust.

Pitch was manacled to the wall, his feet dangling just above the floor. His black robes hung in bloody tatters. Jack couldn’t see Pitch’s face. His lover hung limply, head bowed forward. Black hair, that had once been neat and glossy, hung in lank, blood matted tendrils. There were too many wounds and lacerations on Pitch’s silvery flesh to count. The mirror the soldiers had used to stop Pitch transporting was propped on the floor, its bright beams bathing Pitch’s prone form.

A cut off sound of agony escaped Jack’s throat. He couldn’t tell if Pitch was alive. The noise of a throat clearing came from the other side of the room.

From the shadows stepped a fey wearing robes the color of smoke and ash. His ink blue hair was shoulder length and fell in straight strands over one side of his head. The skin of his face was quite pale, inset with eyes as deep and cold as the bottom of the ocean. On his hip hung a sheathed sword. He was perhaps a few years older and a couple of inches taller than Jack. There was a point to his face, a curve to his lips…This had to be…

“Welcome, brother, I have been waiting for you”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, the long awaited battle! I know that was a super evil cliff hanger...sorry (hangs head). It was too perfect a point to end the chapter. I'm going to try and get chapter fourteen out a bit more quickly, so I won't leave you hanging for too long. No drawing again, but there will be next time! It's of Jack and Niv, I have it all sketched out and just need to paint it in. Anyhow, let me know what you think! Reading you guy's comments is always the highlight of my day! Thank you again to those who have left me kudos, you rock! 
> 
> I just released an original story on my page as well. The fictional setting is a bit similar to 'Frostbitten'.  
> Find it here: [Otherwhere](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3867070/chapters/8640934)   
> The first person to comment on 'Otherwhere' gets a character named after them. :D 
> 
> ~Winterberry 
> 
> Expect the next chapter around may 8th. (Next Friday) and May the fourth be with you!


	14. Broken Brothers and Lovers

 

“PITCH!” The name fell from Jack’s lips on a broken shout.

 

Everything besides Pitch’s wrecked body faded into the background. Even the face of his bastard brother. He skidded across the floor, half running and half flying. Pitch had to be alive, Jack had to see his face.

 

Suddenly, a terrible force slammed his body down onto the floor. There was a great weight on his back and he couldn’t move. His face was ground into the filthy floor, ribs shifting. He couldn’t breathe. Clenching his teeth, Jack turned his head to the side. The prince, his brother, was sneering down at him, congealed ice pouring from his hands and onto Jack’s back.

 

When Jack became sure that the weight would crush him, the prince snapped his fingers and the ice cracked. Jack pulled air back into his lungs. It was full of dust and particles of ice that wasn’t his. It hurt.

 

“Really, brother. I’ve been waiting all this time and you run to that dirty traitor? How shameful”.

 

“You-you’re the traitor” Jack coughed out on his hands and knees. 

 

“Is that what you think? Everything I’ve done has been for this court”.

 

“Liar” Jack stumbled to his feet.

 

The prince simply watched him from across the room. “I would stay put, unless you’d like to suffocate to death. Such a beautiful way to die. First, the ice will creep across your skin, then it will fill your nose and mouth. The weight of it will crush your organs slowly and break your bones. Finally, when it fills your lungs, you’ll have just enough consciousness left to enjoy the agony of your body breaking”. 

 

Jack was shaking with rage. Slowly, he reached down and retrieved his sword and staff from amidst the broken pieces of ice. “Is Pitch alive?”

 

“Probably. He refused to tell me anything about you. He’s tough, I’ll give him that…Still, I wasn’t certain before, but now I am. You love him. That’s the only reason he’s still alive. Now that I’ve got you, he is of no further use”. The prince’s voice held a disgusted, mocking tone. His hand rose toward Pitch.

 

“NO!” Jack shouted. He leapt into the space between Pitch and the prince. “I won’t let you touch him!” he snarled out.

 

The prince lowered his arm. “You? You might as well be a human. A child. You’re injured and weak. What can you do against me, brother?” He sneered the word ‘brother’ as if the idea of sharing blood with Jack disgusted him.

 

Jack slammed his staff into the ground. “I’m no brother of yours! You murdered Pitch’s daughter, my mother and the only companion I had through years of isolation, isolation of your making. You’ve destroyed lives and lands and families. The balance is tipping and the worlds will fall to chaos. You think that’s what the court needs?! I haven’t heard a single fey speak of you with love or respect. They don’t even speak your name! Now you’ve hurt Pitch, one of the few people aiming to create peace between the courts. I’m sure you’ve done something to the king as well! Is he locked away down here too? I’m sure you could find some way to validate imprisoning him, you evil bastard!” Jack was breathing hard. He wanted to hurt the prince. Wanted to make him beg. Pitch still hadn’t stirred behind him.

 

The prince stared at Jack for a moment, a look of mild surprise on his face. Then he threw his head back and started to laugh. It was a manic, awful laugh. High and full of false hilarity. “The king? I did nothing to the king. He locked himself away and wasted to nothing. How weak he was. Always crying over my mother and your mother, his inability to find you. His skeleton is probably still weeping. No, he is simply a figure head, the ghost of one. I have been ruling this kingdom. I am the only one capable of putting the kingdom above a petty handful of blood relations…and my name? It’s Kane. You had might as well know it before you die”. He held his hand high. A broadsword grew from his fingers like a frigid flower, the ice of it nearly black.

 

Despite having mixed feelings on the subject, Jack realized that he’d wanted his father to be alive. Had wanted to know him. “Even if you didn’t kill him with your hands it’s still your fault he’d dead! You lied to the entire court!”

 

The prince began to advance. “I didn’t lie. I simply withheld the news of his death. All of the silly little peasants are too stupid to realize it for themselves”.

 

Jack dropped his staff. He was going to need both hands. “How can you be so cold toward your own family?! Do you care nothing for them?!”

 

“This court was once the pentacle of both worlds. The winter fey ruled all in the age of ice. We were free, masters of the dimensions. Now we’re forced to inhabit a kingdom one thousandth the size. I am going to restore things to how they should be. This mission is more important than family, than a few fey. Besides, I never had much of a family. Mother died years ago and father was too wrapped up in his own doings to care. The court is my family and the winter fey will rejoice in the coming of the new kingdom”. A fevered light had filled Kane’s eyes. He meant every word.

 

“And you’ll murder anyone who gets in your way, women and children included? What kind of kingdom will it be if it’s built on the bodies of your kin and the blood of the fey? There may be a few that agree with you, but you can’t win this. The wild fey are already defeating your forces. They’ll keep the balance. Even if I die”.

 

Kane grinned.

 

Jack could see something of himself in Kane’s face and he hated it. 

 

“How naïve you are little brother. You think all of my armies are here at the court? There are hundreds of thousands of fey under my command. The wild fey may break through these walls, but they can’t win this war. The sun king is too much of a pacifist to strike a true war. I have already won”.

 

Jack swung his sword into the air and took a stance. “Not if I defeat you”.

 

“I am hundreds of years old, a warrior and your superior in every way possible. You will die here today along with that shadow of a fey over there” Kane said, gesturing toward Pitch with the tip of his sword.

 

With a cry, Jack lunged forward. His blade sung through the air, its note high and sweet like a finger on a crystal cup.

 

Kane blocked the blow with a flick of his sword. “You may have the potential to surpass me, but a hundred years is something you do not have”.

 

“Why does everyone keep saying that!? I’m fucking pissed enough to make up a thousand years’ difference you asshole!” Jack screamed. He kicked Kane in the shin and swung again.

This time Kane was forced to block the blow with the flat of his ice blade. With a grunt, he pushed himself away from Jack.

 

The strike caused Jack’s ears to ring and he wiped at a trickle of blood that was oozing from a cut on his forehead. He couldn’t let his injuries affect this fight. “What? Not quite so confident now? You didn’t even fight with your men to defend the court. Are you some kind of coward?” Jack jeered. White hot anger pulsed beside his heard, throbbed in every cut.

 

Kane let out a single laugh. “Why would I need to do that? That’s what soldiers are for. Besides, I wanted to kill you myself. Finish the job I began twenty something years ago. How sad that your little life will amount to nothing”. One handed, he looped his sword through the air, aiming to stab.

 

Jack barely blocked the strike. The tip of Kane’s sword grazed his chest. Fresh blood bloomed across the front of his robes. It was a scratch, a deep one. Passing his hand over the wound, Jack iced the flow. He couldn’t afford to lose any more blood now. 

 

A volley of blows began. Strike, duck, block. Jack wove in a pattern, barely avoiding Kane’s attacks. Their robes billowed out and blood dripped silently from Jack’s to the floor. Quickly he amassed a collection of nicks and grazes. He couldn’t get past Kane’s defense. Fear began to grow beside his anger. Jack’s muscles burned and his breath came in short gasps. He’d already been exhausted before the fight had begun. No, he couldn’t loose. No one was coming to help.

 

Suddenly, Jack heard a soft moan. He jerked around, almost dropping his sword.

 

“Jack?” said a hoarse whisper. Pitch was looking at him, his golden eyes barely open. All of the bones of Pitch’s face stood out sharply and his once luminous eyes were dull and sunken. Almost every bit of his skin was bruised.

 

“God, Pitch!”

 

Jack screamed as Kane’s blade sunk into his left shoulder. He scrabbled at the embedded weapon.

 

“You shouldn’t turn away from your opponent” Kane chastised him, as if they were regular brothers playing at sword fighting.

 

“NO! JACK! Run! Get out of here! He’ll kill you” Pitch yelled hoarsely. He yanked at his shackles desperately.

 

With a squelch, Kane pulled his sword free. “We’ll call that one a freebie, it’s no fun to kill an opponent when his back is turned”. 

 

Jack stumbled backward a few steps, clutching the wound. “There is no way in hell I’m leaving you again! Either we both live or we both die!” Jack sealed the wound with ice. He could still feel the pain and blood trickled from beneath the edges. It just had to last through the fight.

 

“That’s a neat little trick. Though it’s not something a competent warrior needs” Kane said, wiping Jack’s blood off on a handkerchief before throwing it on the floor.

 

Pitch continued to struggle, the metal binding him rattled horribly. “Please, Jack…I can’t…I can’t lose you too”. Pitch was almost sobbing. Jack had never heard him sound so broken.

 

Jack didn’t turn around. Every fiber of his being wanted to run to Pitch, wanted to free him. His fingers itched to trace Pitch’s every feature, to feel Pitch’s warm, living breath on his skin. Picking up his staff, Jack straightened. “It’s my turn to save you”.

 

Kane made a disgusted sound. “Are you two finished? I’m quite ready to kill you now”.

 

Jack’s left arm shook. He could barely hold his staff. His body was too weak for physical combat. Tossing his sword aside, he gripped his staff.

 

“Are you sure you want to do that? My ice is like that of a glacier whilst yours is the thin crust of frozen streams and ponds. I could carve the very earth, do you still hope?”

 

Jack was through talking. His ears rang faintly. He couldn’t hear anything. The well of cold somewhere between his heart and soul was humming. It sang a song of ice and snow. His staff shook. The cold tune roared. Winter power poured from his staff.

 

There were no voices now. Jack surfaced. His breath was gasping in out. His fingers gripped the staff hard enough to meld into the wood. Kane was standing halfway across the room, his legs spread in a wide stance. Kane’s fingers curled into claws, bruise colored ice poured forth from his palms and smashed against Jack’s. Huge, jagged junks were bursting forth like violent fireworks. Neither of them were gaining. Jack pushed harder. Snow built in drifts all around them. Ice crystals crawled up the walls and icicles grew from the ceiling.

 

Pitch was shouting something. Jack couldn’t hear. The roar was too loud. He had to stop. It was already too cold. Switching his staff to his right hand, Jack brought his hand down in a movement that he’d seen Niall make several times. His shoulder burned.

 

A strangled cry echoed from across the room. The warring forces of ice cut off as Jack collapsed to his knees and Kane griped his leg. Blood was pouring over his robe. Jack’s cutting wind had sliced into the muscle of Kane’s leg.

 

They stared at one another. Kane’s chest heaved. He wasn’t laughing anymore. His ink dark hair was disheveled.

 

“Seems I’ve underestimated you, brother. Still, I will win this fight”.

 

“Jack, destroy it!” Pitch cried hoarsely from behind him.

 

Jack didn’t understand. Destroy what?

 

“No!” Kane snarled. He stood, ignoring his wound. From one palm he drew a long, jagged icicle.

 

Jack pushed himself upright, stumbling.

 

Like a javelin, Kane threw the icicle.

 

Jack swung his staff and shattered the ice into a thousand tiny pieces. “You. Will. Not. Win.” Jack ground out.

 

“Neither will you!” Kane growled.

 

They were an even match. There was no doubt in Jack’s mind that they would destroy one another.

 

“Jack, you’re not alone. Destroy it!” Pitch rasped behind him.

 

Jack turned and saw the light of the mirror. The light trapping Pitch. He lunged for it.

 

“I don’t think so!” Kane yelled. He dove after Jack.

 

It was as if they’d both forgotten about their powers. Kane grasped Jack’s calf and drove an icicle knife through the material of Jack’s robe.

 

Jack yelled and kicked out with his free leg. His foot connected with a satisfying crunch. He had a hold of the mirror. The light careened wildly around the room as he struggled. Kane was on top of him now, reaching for the mirror. Blood dripped from Kane’s face. His nose was broken. His mouth an ugly snarl. Jack’s hand brushed across the floor. He felt his sword.

 

Kane reared back, another ice knife in his hand. His free hand wrapped around Jack’s neck, he was seconds away from driving the weapon into Jack’s heart.

 

With a final burst, Jack punched Kane in the stomach and rolled to the side. Throwing the mirror down, he rose to his knees. Holding his sword above his head, he plunged it down into the mirror. The enchanted glass shattered apart, breaking the spell.

 

Shadows were wrapping around Pitch, curling up the chains. The manacles popped open with a click as they were unlocked from the inside. Pitch dropped to the floor. Almost immediately, he pushes himself upright. Straightening, he appeared dignified despite the battered state of his body and clothes.

 

A disgusted expression slowly spread over Pitch’s face as he looked down at Kane. It was the sort of expression one might reserve for maggots or dead things. Pitch was looking at Kane as if he were already dead. “Now, prince, it’s your turn”.

 

Kane scrambled to his feet and backed across the room. Pitch advanced. Jack stood, his body screaming protest. He went to Pitch’s side. They didn’t look at one another, but some of the chaos in Jack’s mind stilled as their shoulders brushed.  

 

“A shadow and a child against a king? The two of you haven’t a chance! Give up, give up and I may not kill the both of you”. Kane had stopped, he was holding his arms up, ready to strike.

 

“What a delusion you’ve created for yourself. You’re almost pitiable…But you killed my child…My girl…That alone is enough to warrant your death. A long time ago I would’ve taken my time with you, ripped you apart piece by piece, but this has gone on long enough. You won’t have another chance to destroy any more lives. It’d time to pay, even in violence there must be balance. The natural order has a way of coming back around and now it has its claws in you”. Pitch’s voice rasped and cracked, low and full of restrained violence and old pain. Shadows loomed around Pitch as he drew himself up.

 

Kane was shaking, his eyes wide, mad.

 

Jack didn’t look at Pitch, but he knew what Kane was seeing. Pitch could inspire terror with a look. Drown out everything but the fear.

 

Jack was still afraid of losing Pitch. Something Pitch had to be extremely aware of, considering that Jack’s fears had been in chaotic flux since their separation. As long as Kane was alive, neither of them were safe. The air around him became thick with ice crystals. Veins of ice pulsed up his staff. The room looked like a tundra. What a pair they had to make, cold and dark, bloody and battered. 

 

With a scream Kane sent a jagged torrent of ice and snow blasting toward Pitch and Jack. It was the color of dirty water frozen over and over again. The kind that adhered to roads and made them into deadly, invisible slicks. It was polluted, sick.

 

Pitch’s shadows surged into a wall in front of them, melding with Jack’s ice to create a watercolor of black and blue. Kane’s power slammed into the wall, cracking it apart, but the force didn’t reach Jack and Pitch.

 

Kane was pressed against the wall now. He looked like a cornered animal.

 

Jack paused. “Pitch…Can we really kill him? He has a lot to answer for…Not that I don’t think he deserves to die”.  

 

“He would live today only to be executed tomorrow. The fey do not pity those who kill without honor. This man is a murderer. He destroyed our families, Jack”. Pitch spoke slowly, pronouncing each syllable in a way that revealed how close he was to losing it.

 

Seeing Kane, actually seeing him and not just imagining a faceless monster, caused an uncomfortable thread of pity to tug at Jack. It was a feeling he didn’t want. He searched for that iron blood thirst, the feeling that had carried him through the battle, carried him to Pitch. Suddenly Jack felt exhausted. Sick of loss and death. Of the weight of it all. He didn’t want to kill Kane. In some tiny way he emphasized with his half-brother. Kane had lost his mother and his father, as far as Jack could tell, had largely ignored him. So he’d done what he could to be noticed. Namely attempting to begin another ice age. Still, unlike Jack, Kane had committed atrocities in the name of a depraved cause. “I don’t want to kill him…I…I’ve had enough killing. There has to be something we can do…We can’t just let him go free”.

 

“SHUT UP!” Kane screamed. Wicked sharp icicles grew from his palms and he lunged toward Jack. “Time to die, brother!”

 

“NO!” Pitch cried. He grabbed Jack’s arm and yanked them into the shadows.

 

The floor dropped away. Something slammed into Jack as they began to transport. Nails scrabbled against his back and Pitch’s hand gripped his arm harder. The air was being constricted from his lungs as they squeezed through the dark. Jack couldn’t make a sound, couldn’t see. He tried to twist away as an arm looped around his neck in the senseless dark. They were tumbling. No up. No down. Just the endless, sightless dark.

 

It was like being pushed down below the water of a savage ocean. Feeling desperate to reach the surface only to hit the sand of the sea floor and realize that you’re upside down.

 

Pitch’s arm was sliding down Jack’s. He struggled harder. Kane was going to crush his throat if he didn’t use both hands to free himself. But he couldn’t let go of Pitch. Suddenly, he could feel Pitch strike out beside him. The hand on his throat loosened slightly and Jack pried Kane’s fingers from his tortured flesh. His mouth opened on a silent cry when nails dug deep furrows into his forearm.

 

For a moment Jack grasped Kane’s wrist and Kane’s fingers wrapped around his. Everything was limbs and blind panic. Then, in less than an instant, Kane’s hand was gone. Jack could only feel Pitch, warm against his cool. They smacked into hard, unforgiving floor.

 

Jack coughed and gasped. The air hurt as it whooshed down his bruised wind pipe. He slumped against the floor, cheek pressed against the hardness of it. A hand reached out and touched his shoulder. He flinched, sure that Kane was about to drive one of those ice spikes through his heart.

 

“Jack, are you alright?! Did he hurt you?” Pitch’s voice was almost frantic.

 

Jack coughed again and rolled onto his back. Pitch was leaning over him, golden eyes full of worry. Kane was gone.

 

“’m ok” Jack managed. His throat contracted painfully around the words.

 

Pitch collapsed beside him, a shaky breath falling from his lips.

 

“You?” Jack managed. He tried to turn his head and get a better look at Pitch

“I’ll live” Pitch bit out, a hint of his old sarcasm returning.

 

Jack almost couldn’t believe it. They were both alive. Pitch was alive. Some part of his mind almost didn’t believe it. He dragged himself upright. Pitch’s eyes were closed. Slowly, Pitch reached an arm out and grasped the ruined sleeve of Jack’s robe. A reckless, fuzzy feeling gripped Jack. Leaning down, he pressed his mouth to Pitch’s. Seeing wasn’t enough, he needed to feel.

 

Pitch startled against his mouth before making a low noise. Reaching up, he pulled Jack down on top of him. It had to hurt. He had so many bruises. 

 

Jack lost control of the kiss. He really didn’t mind. The scent and taste of blood permeated his senses, but underneath was the bittersweet cinnamon and night of Pitch. All of his injuries burned. Pitch’s touch burned. His fingers worked their way into the tangled mess of Pitch’s hair. Pitch traced the planes of his face, fingers rough and shaking. It was Teeth and tongue and the bird-fast beating of his heart. Or was it Pitch’s heart? Pitch was kissing him as if he wanted to make Jack a permanent fixture. They pressed bruises on bruises and Jack didn’t want to breathe. He was deep below, everything beside Pitch a distant glimmer. Pulse rushing in his ears like particles of sand caught in a current.

 

With a regretful sigh, Pitch pulled away. He kept his fingers cupped around Jack’s face.

 

Jack blinked slowly, trying to gain his bearings. He was so dizzy. “Why’d you stop?”

 

“Jack, you’re badly injured…As am I. This place isn’t safe”.

 

Jack nodded slowly. Of course Pitch was right.

 

Pitch smiled wryly. “Don’t think this won’t continue later…I’m not through with you…I see you’ve become more aggressive in my absence”.

 

Jack blushed.

 

Pitch brushed a thumb across Jack’s cheek. “I’m glad that’s still the same”.

 

With a groan, Jack slumped down beside Pitch. He looked up. There were stars shining through a glass dome ceiling. They were in the huge entry of the winter court.

 

It was empty.

 

“Pitch…What happened to the prince?” Jack couldn’t say his brother’s name. 

 

Pitch was silent for a moment. “He’s trapped in the void”.

 

“The void?” 

 

“The space through which I travel…it’s like a gap between dimensions. A worm hole of sorts. A place of absolute dark. My abilities are compatible with it and I can take others through as long as I keep a hold on them. To become separated is to be lost forever…The prince is imprisoned in a void, a boundless, timeless void. We’ll never find him and he’ll never get out”.

 

Jack felt a strange mix of relief and horror. “You mean he’ll just float there forever in the middle of nothing?”

 

“I don’t know the exact details, but yes. Perhaps he’ll die of starvation or he may drift through the nothing forever. Either way, he’s gone” Pitch sounded a little shocked, as if he couldn’t believe it either.

 

 “…What an awful way to go…I think I’d rather die here where there’s light and sky and wind”.

 

“He’ll be left with nothing but the things he’s done”. Pitch sounded exhausted. Not pleased and not pitying. Simply through.

 

Jack didn’t know what to feel. It had all happened so fast. “He’s gone…”

 

“He’s gone” Pitch echoed.

 

A cacophony of sound rose somewhere outside. Shouts and metal on metal.

 

Pitch looked at the door. “It sounds like a battle…”

 

Jack stopped attempting to wipe the blood and grime from his palms. “Um…I kind of brought an army with me”

 

Pitch stared at him. “You brought an army?”

 

Jack stared up through the glass ceiling. “Yeah…I found my grandfather and we rallied the wild fey…Niall! He’s still down there!” Jack scrambled upright and swayed. Reddish ice cracking over his wounds.

 

“Jack!”

 

The little door to the stairs that lead to the cells down below the court was still ajar. Jack reached for it. How could he have forgotten about Niall? Even for a second? What if the soldiers had him? No…Niall was stronger than that. He would fly back down the stairs and-

 

The door flew open. It narrowly missed beaming Jack in the face. A sharp gust of wind blasted his hair back.

 

Niall stood just inside the stairwell, silvery eyes a little wide. Slowly he looked Jack up and down. Reaching out, he pulled Jack into an embrace. “I thought…You are alright”. He let go before Jack had a chance to return the embrace.

Jack didn’t mind. Like his grandfather he wasn’t particularly physical with his affections. “I’m fine…or I will be. Are you alright?”

 

“I am fine. The soldiers were a simple matter. It took some time for me to find my way through the barriers. I reached the last cell to discover what looked like the scene of a fight…Full of ice and blood…I feared the worse. When I could not find you I thought it possible that Pitch had transported the both of you away and I returned here”.

 

“We did…The prince is gone”. A hand rested on Jack’s shoulder from behind.

 

“Jack, who is this?” Pitch’s grip tightened, as if about to yank Jack away from a threat.

 

“Um, this is Niall, my grandfather…Niall this is Pitch”. Jack felt oddly nervous. He’d never had the chance to introduce any sort of significant other to any sort of parent.

 

Niall politely inclined his head. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Lord Pitchiner”.

 

Pitch’s grip lightened. He moved to Jack’s side and bowed slightly. “The pleasure is mine…No need for such formalities. I haven’t been a lord for a long time. I’m just Pitch now”.

 

Niall smiled his slight smile. “The time to become Lord Pitchiner again may be close at hand”.

 

Here they were, bruised, bloody and exchanging pleasantries as a battle waged on just outside the front doors.

 

Jack cleared his throat. He didn’t want to pause and feel relieved until it was all over. The prince was gone and the king dead, but the fight wasn’t through and the balance hadn’t been restored.

 

 

Jack and Niv!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're almost at the end. To those who have been with this story since the beginning; thank your for having patience with my sporadic posting. To anyone who discovers this story and reads it through in a few hours, you're awesome too! This fic is the longest story I've ever written and broaches on two hundred pages. Jack and Pitch will always be two of my favorite characters, they just go together. In my opinion it's not people who are exact opposites or people who are exactly the same that make the best partners. It's the partners who are different and the same in the right ways. To those who have left me comments or kudos, thank you so much! They encourage me to keep writing! I'll be returning to my 'Rise of the Guardians: A Romantic Sequel' after 'Frostbitten' is finished up. Somehow this story ended up taking priority over 'Romantic Sequel', perhaps because it gave me a bit more space to be original. Anyways, thank you for sticking with this story, the next chapter will be the last or second to last. I hope you enjoyed the doodle of Jack and Niv at the end of this one. 
> 
> ~Winterberry 
> 
> The next chapter will be out sometime around may 21st. 
> 
> Again, I recently released an original story. Give it a look see if you get the chance. :) [Otherwhere](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3867070/chapters/8640934)


	15. Perfect Insanity

“Where is everyone?” Jack said at last, looking about the empty, echoing entry.

“The servants likely fled and the guards have all joined the battle outside” Niall replied, sheathing his sword after wiping it clean on a stained corner of his robes. He ducked back through the small, darkened doorway for a moment and reappeared holding Jack’s staff. “I was not sure who was outside the door earlier”.

Jack took it gratefully. He hadn’t wanted to return to that underground room. The thought made him shutter. “We should join them” he said, gesturing to the front door and the space beyond where the battle raged on.

“Jack-” Pitch started.

“Neither of you are in any sort of shape to join in that blood bath” Niall said sternly. “Jack, you are barely standing and I believe Pitch has some internal damage. This battle is at an end for the two of you”.

Jack was about to argue the point when the massive front doors shuttered and burst open. Elden came galloped through the doorway, bloody sword in hand. Linden was on his back again, pale but steady. Their twin murderous expressions softened when they spotted Jack, Pitch and Niall. Linden slid from Elden’s back. His arm was in an improvised sling of torn fabric.

“Lord Pitchiner, I am glad to see you alive” Linden said with a half bow. There was something mildly impressive about the way he completed the gesture without a wince. “The rest of you as well, I did not doubt your capability, Jack Frost”.

“You’re alright!” Jack said lamely. He was exhausted and seeing his comrades alive, if not well, was a relief.

“Of course, this is not my first battle, nor will it be my last. I would never succumb to such a wound”.

Jack half smiled “Of course”.

“Linden, what is happening outside, has the battle yet turned?” Niall asked quickly.

Linden’s slightly pointed teeth flashed in a quick smile. “The victory is ours…though black victory it is…Excuse me Pitch”.

Pitch waved his hand in ‘whatever’ gesture, too tired to summon up a remark.

Linden continued “We have lost dozens of fey brethren…And just when the battle could have been theirs or ours, the guard suddenly ceased fighting and lay down arms. Not a one of them will tell us why”.

“Jack, they’ll listen to Jack” Pitch said quietly.

“What? Why would they listen to me?” Jack asked, confused.

“You’re the heir. When a fey joins the guard and pledges loyalty to the royal family they feel a compellation to follow any orders given by said royal family…It’s an old magic of sorts. Something a weak mind find difficult to repel. When the prince was lost his orders where broken. Perhaps they truly didn’t wish to fight their wild kin”.

Linden shook his head slowly. “If that is true…The loss is even more grievous than I feared…The prince is dead?”

Jack paused for a split second. “He’s dead”.

They were all silent for a moment. Death hung heavy between them. Every face accept Pitch’s a reaper’s mask of red. To kill, to almost be killed, the weight of it a lifelong companion. Jack could already feel it making a home amongst his insides. Pain, sorrow, hate, they were feelings he knew well. Yet, regret wasn’t among them. He knew he’d do it all again, a hundred times over, to save Pitch.

Niall was the first to make a sound. A heavy sigh, filled with past and present loss, fell from his lips. “Those who sing of the glory of battles have not seen the aftermath. All we can do now is wipe away the signs of it, though the effects will remain on those involved”.

Jack wanted to take Pitch and disappear, go back to the book store. But even that was destroyed, every beloved square of paper and ink tattered and burnt. And running wasn’t the answer, he’d been running all his life. The years he’d spent hiding behind worlds like the very one in which he stood were far, far away. Almost as if it they’d been just another story inside another book. Now the fantasy was a reality. What a dark fantasy it had turned out to be. “I want to look for the king” he said resolutely.

“Jack…The likelihood of the king being alive…I don’t think it’s terribly high” Pitch said gently.

Jack shook his head mulishly. “The prince was a liar…I have to look for him at least”.

“If you must do it, then you must” Niall said without pre-amble.

Jack was starting to get fond of the way that his grandfather got straight to the point of things. “Thank you”.

“Linden and I will see to the mess outside, but Jack, those soldiers need to hear from you. Do not take too long”.

Jack nodded. A whole army. Waiting for him. He didn’t have a clue as to what he would say. He wasn’t a soldier and he certainly didn’t feel like any sort of royal, despite his blood. What right did he have to rule over hundreds of years old fey when he was himself but a child in comparison? The debt he owed those who had both risked and laid down their lives to deliver him into the court wasn’t to be ignored. Wasn’t something he would break. Despite his fears and doubts he would take the throne, damn his own desires, if they wanted him to.

Still, it didn’t feel right. The king, the monarch of a millennia, he was the one the court needed. Not a damaged child. Jack smiled inwardly. Here he was, using his own weaknesses to reason against himself. He shoved it all down. That was easy. Something he knew too well.

Pitch was frowning at Niall. “You can’t seriously expect him to take the throne?! Hasn’t he had enough already? Hasn’t he done enough?!”

Niall’s mouth thinned and his eyes held the story of his age for a moment. “No, I do not wish this on Jack. If there were any other…It is in his blood, some part of you knew this from the moment the two of you met. Fate brought you together and by fate he is here now. To save him you brought him here and to save you he freed the court. Whether you or I will it, his fate and yours are inner-tangled with that of the court and the throne”.

“Pitch, it’s alright. I accepted responsibility for this when I called the wild fey to fight. I used them, used them to save you and I owe them”.

“No, the wild fey aren’t loyal to the throne, they are loyal to themselves and to their kin” Pitch said.

Jack was grateful that a single person, the person he’d called forth an army for, wanted to spare him the weight of the crown. But it made it harder to accept what he knew he had to accept.

“What Pitch says is not untrue, Jack. The wild fey fought to restore balance and to protect the wood. You cannot be forced to accept the throne, only know that it is your right and…without a ruler this court is likely to fall. The sun king will never truly be able to rule both courts, fore his power is of light and warmth. The winter fey need one of their own”.

Jack let out a breath. “So, no pressure then?” The words sounded weak, even to him. He swayed, dizziness coming over him in a wave. Niall grabbed his arm.

“Before any of us do anything the both of you need to have your wounds dealt with” Niall said, guiding Jack to the base of the stairs.

Jack allowed himself to be towed. He felt weak.

Elden approached from where he’d been waiting politely. “I have some supplies in my pack, if you would like to use them” he said is his deep voice.

“That would be most helpful” Niall said, already eyeing Jack’s shoulder wound.

Jack groaned. Niall’s brutal form of healing was still a not so distant memory. Pitch sat beside him. It felt strange to sit after all the rapid violence. “Just let me warn you, he’s merciless” he informed Pitch.

“I don’t really have the kind of injuries you can put a bandage on and I’m already healing” Pitch said with a tired smile. “I think a shower will go a long way to fixing what ails, but that will have to come later”. He winked lazily at Jack.

Jack focused on his toes and tried not to blush. The thought of the prince beating Pitch made him mad all over again. He wished he could wipe away the myriad of tiny cuts and bruises on Pitch’s shadowed face.

“Pull it off” Niall said, pointing at Jack’s robe.

Jack bit his lip and struggled out of the half-destroyed fabric. Pitch grabbed a sleeve and pulled. With a tearing noise, the robe slipped off. Jack was suddenly grateful that leggings seemed to be a part of the fey uniform.

Elden dropped the sling pack and turned to Linden “We had best return, there are wounded that need attending”.

Linden brushed his tangled hair back. “Right”. With a graceful movement he swung back up onto Elden’s back. “Take care, we will see you on the field” and with that, they left.

Jack watched them go, feeling some small part of relief that the battle was over. He hissed as Niall wiped away the excess blood and melting ice from his shoulder.

Pitch winced sympathetically “If only I could kill him again” he said in a low voice.

“Just be glad he’s gone” Jack said. He threw his head back and clenched his teeth as Niall began to stitch the wound closed.

“How long…have we been apart? It was hard to gauge the passage of time in that place” Pitch asked, pressing closer to Jack.

Jack let out a short cut-off sound of pain, but he was grateful for the distraction. “Just-ouch-a couple of days…Pitch are you sure you don’t need anything?”

“Time…He’d start in again just when I’d begin to heal”.

“God-I” he stopped and squeezed his eyes shut when Niall began to stitch the gash on his chest.

Niall frowned. “I shouldn’t have let you go down there alone, this is my fault”.

Jack opened his eyes, surprised. “No, no. It was my fight. It was something I needed to do alone”.

The small crease remained between Niall’s brows. “Perhaps”.

“This was only one person’s fault and that person met the fate he deserved. Blaming one another or ourselves won’t help” Pitch said tiredly.

“Wise words” Niall said softly, wrapping a swath of bandages around Jack’s shoulder and chest.

Jack swallowed his nausea. He’d made it through without blacking out and was a little proud of the fact. When Niall rolled up the leg of his ruined leggings Jack groaned. He’d forgotten about the wound on his leg. Everything else had hurt too much. It was right above the shiny arrow scar.

“How did this happen?” Pitch asked, leaning forward and indicating the scar.

“Oh, arrow…you know, when I had to fly out the window”. Jack hated the memory. Hated that he’d had to leave Pitch behind.

Pitch closed his eyes and nodded, face a little paler.  
They were going to have a lot to say to each other behind closed doors.

Jack’s nails dug into his palms as Niall used exactly four stitches to close the wound on his leg. It was nowhere near as deep as the one the arrow had made. The time he’d been stabbed in the back and woken up in the hospital had been gentle compared to this. Still, he was lucky that he hadn’t received a lethal blow. He ran a hand lightly over the bandages on his chest, grateful that his internal organs were all in one piece. After Niall finished bandaging his leg, Jack stood. Everything still hurt and he felt a little light headed, but remained steady. “Thanks” he said to Niall.

“Just try not to give me any more reasons to put my sewing skills to use” Niall replied seriously.

Jack snorted. “I’ll defiantly make every attempt. I have no desire to be a human quilt”.

“I don’t think you need to worry about that” Pitch said, a hint of a spark returning to his eyes.

“Why, because I’m not actually human?” Jack felt an ache next to his heart. He missed their banter…Even if it had only been a few days since they’d seen each other. It felt like a hundred years.

“No, because I’m not going to let anything else happen to you”.

Pitch always knew what to say.

Jack smiled a little. “Let’s go find the king”.

“I believe that the two of you are safe in each other’s company, I am going to assist on the field…I pray that you find what you seek” Niall said

“Niall…Thank you. We’ll try not to take too long”.

“I will see you soon…mo garmhac”.

Jack watched Niall leave, the pack of medical supplies on his shoulder. “What did he say?”

“My grandson”

“Oh” Jack felt an odd burst of happiness.

“I like him, your grandfather” Pitch said.

“That’s no surprise, he reminds me a bit of you sometimes”.

“Does he now?”

“The way he speaks or some backward comment he makes...Maybe it’s just that the two of you old”.

“Back on the old thing are we? I’m a patient man, when you reach one hundred you’ll never hear the end of it” Pitch replied, smirking a little.

“That’s alright, I have over seventy years to come up with a good comeback” Jack replied.

Pitch laughed. The sound was scratchy, as if he’d been screaming. “I look forward to it”.

Jack sobered. “Pitch…Will we ever…Will there ever be a quiet time, a time just for us?”

“I don’t know, Jack. I hope so”.

They looked at one another for a moment, both wanting. It would have to wait.

Jack looked down at his tattered robe. “Uh, I don’t think that’s even worth putting back on…Although, I don’t particularly care to go traipsing about the court only in a pair of skin tight trousers”.

Pitch raised an eyebrow “I wouldn’t mind”.

“I know you wouldn’t mind” Jack said, rolling his eyes.

“Here”. Pitch raised a hand and shadows curled from his palm. Slowly, they settled over Jack’s skin, shaping into a semblance of his last robe.

Jack ran a hand down the sleeve. It felt silky and slightly warm against his skin. “Thank you”.

“Just don’t go far from me, it will disappear and you’ll be half naked again”. The thought of Jack being half naked didn’t seem to bother Pitch.

“Hmm, I think you just want an excuse to keep me from wandering”.

“I’m wounded” Pitch said, though he sounded the opposite. With another gesture, he cast a net of shadows over himself, hiding the tatters of his last robe.

Without exchanging words, they started up the spiraling staircase.

The grand hallway above was empty as well.

“The servants must be hiding somewhere” Pitch said, turning his head from side to side, searching for a threat.

“Pitch…”

“Hhmm?”

“What was he like, the king? You knew him didn’t you?”

“I knew him…We were friends of sorts, I suppose. Perhaps it was a different sort bond. As you know, the Pitchiners are bound to the royal line…We feel a loyalty to the winter family from a young age. It’s an ancient sort of blood magic. As long as there has been a winter king, a Pitchiner has been beside him. The origin of the bond is unknown, it’s as old as this court. Perhaps it began as means for the royals to have at least one completely loyal protector and advisor…The relationship between ourselves in completely unprecedented…and may be viewed as inappropriate by some”.

“I don’t care about that…Does it bother you…The fact that some sort of magical force could’ve drawn us together?” It was a question Jack had wanted to ask Pitch since he’d first found out about the connection between the royals and the Pitchiners.

Pitch smiled. “Absolutely not, what I feel for you and what that bond makes me feel are two separate things. It may be possible that I was first drawn to you because of it, but what came to be between us has nothing to do with it. I like you for you, alright?”

Jack half smiled. “I suppose I already knew that, but it felt good to hear you say it all the same”.

Pitch wrapped his fingers around the hand Jack had swinging at his side and kissed the back of it before letting go.

Jack looked sideways at Pitch, the place Pitch’s lips had touched felt hot. Pitch was watching him out of the corner of his eyes.

“Look out!” Pitch reached out and grabbed Jack’s arm.

Jack startled and discovered his nose to be inches from a giant stone pillar.

“Perhaps I shouldn’t distract you just now” Pitch said, a slight smirk dancing around his features.

Jack wanted to smile too, play off his clumsy moment as tiredness, but Pitch’s face looked so drawn and thin. As if the two days in that underground room had stolen away his vitality. Jack supposed it had in a way. “Are you really alright?”

Pitch sighed. “I know I look awful, but a few days and I’ll be hail again. Jack, the knowledge of what he did to my daughter, of what he could do to you, was far worse than anything that man could’ve done to me physically. He beat the living hell out of me, yes, but I can heal from that and it’s no worse than anything I’ve received in past fights. Now he’s gone and I just want to get past him, start over. I think the two of us deserve that, don’t you?”

Jack let out a breath. “Of course I want that”.

“Then we’ll find a way”.

Jack nodded. He felt an odd urge to cry. Now wasn’t the time.

Pitch was silent for a moment. “The king…He was serious man, yet, he had a gentleness about him…a fragility. As if the cruelties of this world caused him hurt. Still, despite this, he was absolute when it came time to mete out justice. His years made him wise. Occasionally he could be impatient, when it came to something that benefited the people. It was rare that he allowed others to see him impatient…or sad. When he lost his first wife I think it hardened him a little. Perhaps he was somewhat aloof as well. I don’t believe he and…the prince were ever close. It was a rare thing to see them together. Running a court doesn’t leave a lot of time for friends and family. I think he’d already begun to retreat further into himself before I left…The loss of you and your mother must’ve been what sent him over the edge. If he did lock himself away and turn from the court, his sorrow must have been great…Despite it all, he was a good king. Every man has his limit and he simply reached his…You remind me of him a little”.

“I see…I suppose I can’t blame him for all the things that’ve happened…If I had lost you…

“But you didn’t”

Jack glanced at Pitch “I know”

“After everything…If he’s even alive…Do you think he’ll want anything to do with the throne?”

“I don’t know, Jack. Time can heal, but who is to say how much time a person needs. Especially when that person is immortal”.

“I just hope he’s alive”.

“Me too”.

The ceiling of the hallway the walked down was domed glass like the entry and the stars cast a silver light onto the black marble floor. Tapestries too perfect to have been made by human hands decorated the walls and every door was an exquisite sculpture unto itself. The court had a cold beauty about it.

“Do you know where we’re going?” Jack asked Pitch.

“The king’s rooms” Pitch said, pointing to the tallest door at the end of the hall.

Jack wondered if rooms belonging to the royal family were always at the end. It was kind of like being at the head of the table. He suddenly remembered the story of King Arthur and the round table. Everyone had been equal at that table. What had Pitch said? Merlin had been a fey.

They reached the great door. It was carved with scenes of the hunt and hundreds of fey, every single one a perfect likeness. It reminded Jack of the front door.  
Jack took a breath. He didn’t have a clue what would be on the other side. Corpse or King?

The doors were locked. Suddenly, the knocker began to melt. Jack watched, mesmerized, as it reformed into the horned head of a gargoyle.

“Who goes?” The metal mouth ground out. Its beady eyes swiveled about before focusing on Jack and Pitch.

“Kozmotis Pitchiner, advisor to the king and Jack Frost, son of the king”.

“Prove yourselves” it said. Its metal mouth opened wide to reveal a set of fangs.

Pitch leaned forward, hand extended.

“Wait!” Jack exclaimed. “I met one of these thing down in the basement and it wanted to eat my digits for dinner”.

“It’s alright, it just wants a drop of blood”. Pitch pressed a fingertip to one of the fangs.

Jack watched nervously as the scarlet drop ran into the creature’s mouth.

“Now you” Pitch told him.

Nervously, Jack pressed his pointer finger to one of the fangs. It was razor sharp and a drop of blood oozed from the tiny wound on his finger and into the gargoyle’s mouth.

“You may pass” the gargoyle said in a bored voice.

The doors swung open to admit them.

The room smelled of dust. A thick layer of it covered everything. In the center of the room was a huge canopy bed, the wood of it intricately carved and covered in swaths of deep blue. Weak beams of light shone through twin windows and glass cases of scrolls and books lined two walls. The ceiling was glass like the rest of the court. It looked as if it hadn’t been entered in years.

Jack walked around the side of the bed, his heart beating quickly. What lay behind the aged bed curtains? He pushed them aside. There, in the center of the bed, lay a fey with long, tangled hair the color of steel. His eyes were closed and the dusty coverlet over his chest and beneath his cerulean clad arms rose and fell ever so slightly. The skin of his face was extremely pale. The shape of it was a little squarer than Jack’s, but Jack could see the resemblance between them. A circlet of beautifully wrought snowflakes bound the sleeping fey’s forehead. There was a slant to his eyes, despite them being closed, and a point to his ears.

Jack looked and looked. “Is it him?” he had to know for sure.

Pitch nodded slowly, looking at Jack across the bed. “It’s him. This is the king”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, this one is out way later than intended, sorry to make you wait for it! My last couple of weeks have been crazy busy and I just didn't have the spare time I thought I would. I traded in half my sleep last night to write this chapter and just finished editing. Totally worth it though, I'd much rather be writing. This chapter is the second to last, the last one will be extra long and will probably include some kind of drawing. To those who have left me comments and kudos; I heart you a cup of tea <3 ;) To anyone I owe a message, I'll be sending out replies tomorrow (Thank you for having patience with me!). I will do my uttermost to make the last chapter epic (and sans cliff hangers). Pitch and Jack will definitely get a little 'ahem' alone time. 
> 
> ~Winterberry 
> 
> Expect the last chapter around June 15th (Takin a little extra time to make it excellent! :D) 
> 
> You can find me here as well: 
> 
> http://wintryberry.deviantart.com/ 
> 
> https://www.fanfiction.net/u/6475565/WintryBerry


	16. Two Lives to Live

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Sorry it took me an extra week to bring you this chapter, the days I usually have off to write and be antisocial were voided by my boss's vacay. SO, I had to wait till this week aaaand I kind of wrote a nearly forty page ender. Because of this I've divided the end into two chapters. I will be releasing the very last chapter sometime tonight. I will be replying to all the lovely comments in my inbox tomorrow as well as any messages anyone is owed tomorrow. Anyways, thank you for the comments, kudos and for taking the time to read my words. I L-word you guys! 
> 
> -Winterberry

Jack simply stared at the king. Dust motes swirled in the dim light, the particles sparkling. The king himself was untouched by the dust. He looked perfect, ethereal even. His face smooth and untroubled by the blood and chaos around him. Jack didn’t know how to react. This wasn’t how he’d imagined meeting his father. 

“Jack. Jack!” 

Jack startled and looked up. Pitch was staring at him, face concerned. He held the king’s wrist between his fingers. 

“Is he…Does he have a pulse?” Jack asked, staring at the king’s face again. His stomach clenched and acid burned in his throat. 

Pitch respectfully placed the arm back on the bed, sending up a tiny puff of dust. “Yes, but his heart is beating very, very slowly” 

Jack let out a shaky breath. Alive. His father was alive. “What’s wrong with him, why is he sleeping?” He reached out hesitantly and wrapped a long, silvery strand of hair around his finger. It made him feel like a child. 

Pitch bit the inside of his cheek in a rare outward sign of distress. His golden eyes flickered with unidentified emotion. This was the man he had served for decades, his king and friend. “I don’t think he’s sleeping…This isn’t normal, even for a fey. It’s like…a coma” Pitch said slowly. 

A silent moment passed. “…Do you think we can wake him up?” Jack said slowly, releasing the strand. 

“If we could find out what caused the coma in the first place…I suspect it has something to do with the prince. I-” Pitch paused, his pupils dilated and his fingers clinched minutely. 

“Hey, Pitch-” 

“He’s having a nightmare”. 

“Can you see…?” 

“Maybe”. Pitch’s hand uncurled and he carefully pressed the tips of his fingers to the king’s forehead. 

Jack watched, unspeaking, as Pitch closed his eyes. Nothing happened for a long moment. Jack waited, barely breathing. Suddenly, Pitch stiffened and his jaw clenched. Jack almost reached out, but thought better of it. He didn’t want to break Pitch’s focus. The king’s face remained unfettered by any emotion, but his eyes moved beneath their lids, reacting to something Jack couldn’t see. He’d never seen Pitch use his abilities in such a way. Could Pitch actually communicate with the king’s unconscious mind? 

Jack almost jumped when Pitch’s eyes flew opened. Pitch jerked his hand back as if he’d been stung. For a second, Pitch looked at Jack with an unfocused gaze, as if he were still looking inside the king’s nightmare. A shiver ran its finger’s up Jack’s spine. Pitch looked haunted. 

He was around the bed in a second, stirring the disintegrating curtains. “Pitch, what’s wrong? What did you see?” 

Blinking, Pitch focused on Jack. “I’m fine…He’s confused and I think he’s been reliving the circumstances of this state since entering into it…The prince came to visit him here, in this room, for the first time in a long while. He wanted to reconcile, that’s what he told the king. He brought a gift of hundred year wine…It’s something created at the turn of a century, a rare commodity. The prince poured them both a glass and the king drank it…He didn’t…Didn’t see the prince pour poison into one of the goblets. By the time he felt the effects it was too late. Kane locked him inside this room”. 

“Kane” The name was bitter in Jack’s mouth. “He tried to kill his own father. I just don’t get it. How can a position of power be more important than your own family? He must have been insane. That’s the only way any of this makes since…But the king was poisoned…how?” 

“Powerful fey have the ability to lower their heart rate and place themselves in a state akin to suspended animation. Although, I’ve never heard of it lasting this long. The poison is still in his system, but it won’t take full effect unless he wakes up”. 

“What if we find the antidote? Can we still save him” Jack twisted his fingers together. 

Pitch frowned, thinking. “There are hundreds of different poisons he could have used”. 

Jack considered for a moment. “A few years ago I took an interest in toxicology. I read quite a few books about it…Before he put himself in this state what did he do? How did he react to the poison?” 

“I have a little knowledge of poisons as well…I think the symptoms set in almost immediately after he ingested the poison. He was…shaking and-” Pitch rubbed his arms. “His body hurt and he couldn’t balance…He collapsed on the bed just before he went into the suspended state. I believe it was paralysis”. 

“Do fey generally use botanical poisons?” 

“Yes…As far as I am aware”. 

“Shaking, pain, imbalance and paralysis…It would have to be a fast acting poison”. Jack thought back, skimmed through memories of printed words on white pages and the neatly illustrated plants beside them. It was strange how vivid he memories of reading were. He could see he own hand turning the page, the other holding a black, tasseled book mark. He could remember what time of day it had been. “Wait”. He paused at a page. “Did his vision fade? Was he having trouble seeing?” 

“I think so…Yes. I was wondering. He used his hands to find the bed before he collapsed…Wait it must be-” 

“Hemlock” Jack finished. 

Pitch nodded. “It’s fast acting and easy to procure. The taste of the wine would likely have hid its flavor”. 

Jack looked down at his father. “I know what the antidote is”. 

“There’s an apothecary here inside the court” Pitch said quickly. 

Jack glanced down at the bed again. He didn’t want to leave the king, having just found him. He took a step back. It was necessary. “Can we use your shadow to get there?” 

Pitch smiled. “Of course. There’s always a shadow in some nook or corner. As long as there’s darkness, as long as there’s light’. 

“Aren’t you the philosophical one”. 

“Don’t want to hear it, book worm. Do I even want to know why you were studying poisons? Were you planning to do someone in?” 

Jack shook his head. “You’ll laugh at me”. 

Pitch frowned “I won’t laugh”. 

“Well that makes me feel LOADS better…I used to read toxicology texts when I lived with my adoptive family. My father was…well, you know. I found it to be comforting. I never would have actually done anything…” 

“Jack, that isn’t funny in the least. Sometimes I think you’re nearly as twisted as I”. 

“Don’t you doubt it” Jack muttered.

Pitch snorted. He wrapped an arm around Jack’s uninjured shoulder and they spun into the shadows. 

They rematerialized in a dim room. The space smelled strongly of herbs and decaying plant matter. Lace-like metal shelves were lined with jars and vials of plants and liquids. Dead potted plants, their leaves curled and brown, covered the table at the center of the room. Like the King’s room, the space looked neglected.   
“Why does the court seem so…deserted? And how is it possible that a single person didn’t discover the fact that the king is in a coma?” Jack said, looking at the labels on a cabinet of vials. 

“As far as I can tell, many of the court officials have been dismissed. The servants are indentured, meaning they owe the court a dept. They’re bound by oaths and can’t go against orders. If the prince ordered them to keep silent or to stay out of certain sections of the court they’re bound to do so. The prince acted as king and drove away anyone who might have suspected what he was up to. This court has been on the doorstep of chaos for a long time”. 

“They’re like…slaves?” 

Pitch sighed. “No. They came before the king or the prince and made a request. Something they could not get on their own, perhaps it was land or the health of a family member, but they owe the court a certain number of years in return…It’s an exchange that’s taken place for centuries”. 

“Huh. I guess I just don’t like the idea of anyone having their freedom taken away”. 

“I know it’s very different from the human world, but exchange is the main form of currency in the fey world. And with the number of powerful being that live here, you don’t make a deal lightly…As you learned”. 

“Hey, that was a onetime thing…You just like saying I told you so”. 

Pitch raised a brow. “I did warn you”. 

“I think you just like the sound of your own voice”. 

“It’s a sexy voice” Pitch said, glancing at him with a smirk. 

Jack rolled his eyes. Pitch’s voice was undeniably sexy, but he wasn’t about to inflate Pitch’s ego by telling him so. He’d never hear the end of it. “Save your voice and help me look for some oak leaves”. 

“Oak leaves? That’s the antidote?” Pitch said nonchalantly. 

“You didn’t know? Wow”. Jack tried not to smile. 

“Know it all” Pitch said fondly. 

“It’s the tannic acid in the leaves, really”. 

“I see” Pitch said, the hint of a smile in his voice. 

Jack moved jar after jar to the side and Pitch did the same beside him. “Damn! I can’t find it! You’d think they’d have something so basic”. 

“We’ll find it, Jack”. 

Jack threw he head back in frustration. Up above the shelves, penned to the wall, was a sprig of oak. Stretching, Jack reached for it. He hissed when a spike of pain ran through his chest. In an instant Pitch was behind him. Pressing against Jack’s back Pitch reached up and pulled the twig from the wall with ease. 

Jack let his eyes drift shut. He resisted the urge to lean back into Pitch. Heat radiated through the front of Pitch’s thin robes. A minute shiver ran up Jack’s spine. Unintentionally he gripped the counter edge in front of him. “Shorty” Pitch whispered in his ear. 

“I’m not short, you’re just ridiculously tall” Jack muttered. 

“If there weren’t extenuating circumstances…” Pitch said softly, lips brushing Jack’s neck. 

“Nnngg…but there are, uh, circumstances” Jack bit out as Pitch’s hand’s slid up his waist, the twig falling to the counter. 

Jack tensed when Pitch’s hand hit the edge of his stitches. It was always something. 

With a growl Pitch took a step back. “When all of this is over we’re going back to my apartment and we’re not leaving for at least a week”. Snatching up the sprig, he wrapped an arm around Jack’s waist and turned them into the shadows. 

Jack went to the edge of the bed when they rematerialized. The king looked the same. “I need something to dissolve this in…Hot water would be best I think”. 

Pitch knelt in front of the beautifully carved fireplace and rearranged dry and dusty firewood. Feeling along the carved marble, Pitch located a knot and pressed his thumb into it. A fire popped to life, hot flames crackling. Grapping a brassy kettle from the mantle, he hung it from a hook over the fire. 

“Don’t we need to fill it?” Jack wondered. 

“No, it’s enchanted to never run out of water. 

“I need one of those”. 

Pitch laughed softly, as if he didn’t want to wake the sleeping king. “I think your caffeine intake is acceptable without a continuous source of tea water”. 

“You’re the one who keeps making me cups of tea…Not that I mind”. 

“Happy to do so” Pitch said, one corner of his mouth turning up. 

The kettle began to boil a few minutes later. Jack was ridiculously appreciative of the smaller fey magics. Pitch retrieved a ceramic mug from the mantle. It was white with a ring of rainbow-trout colored glaze. It looked handmade, the neat circles of a wheel marking the bottom. Tiny tea-colored hairline cracks decorated the inside as is bound to happen with use. Jack tried to imagine the king sitting in the deep blue armchair in the corner and enjoying a mug of tea and a book. He couldn’t quite see it. The man lying on the bed was still a stranger. 

After wiping the mug clean, Pitch poured it half full of steaming water. Jack tore the dried leaves from the branch. They crackled between his fingers, dry and faintly green. One at a time, he crumbled them into the water. Using a long tea spoon, Pitch stirred the concoction. 

“How much of it does he need to drink?” Pitch asked quietly. 

“As much as possible. The oak won’t hurt him and I have no clue as to how much poison he was given. It must have been fairly strong to cause such a reaction” Jack replied. He blew an icy breath onto the steaming liquid, cooling it in an instant. 

They propped the king up with a pillow. When Jack’s fingers glanced over the exposed skin of the king’s shoulder he found it to be the same cool temperature as his own. 

Spoonful by spoonful the greenish liquid passed between the king’s pale lips. Jack could see the faint swallowing motion as it trickled down. Relief coursed through him. He hadn’t known if the king’s state would make it impossible for him to drink the antidote. 

When the last dropped disappeared Jack took a step back. “Will he…just wake up?” 

Pitch looked back at him and then at the king. “Give it a few minutes to work. I think his body will begin to wake once the antidote does its work”. 

Jack was silent for a moment. “What if we’re wrong? What if it’s something else entirely that’s making him like this?” 

“Quite your fretting, I’m a world class detective and you have a library stored in your cranium. We both came to the same conclusion and we’re not wrong”. 

“Look!” Jack exclaimed. The king’s fingers twitched spasmodically against the coverlet. With the king’s waking an inevitability, a strange fear suddenly filled him. 

They’d killed the prince. Would the king hate them for it? What if the king was anything like his human father? Colder and crueler than jagged ice. How were they going to explain their relationship? Jack could already feel the weight of unspoken disapproval. He’d finally shed the shackles of self-doubt and fear manufactured by his adoptive father. The thought of returning to such a state terrified him. He wasn’t sure if he was strong enough to overcome a second round of abuse. An urge to retract all feeling of hope and longing grabbed at him painfully. It was an old mechanism, to retreat inside himself and hide behind an iron wall of disregard. Having a family, knowing his real family was something Jack had come to want desperately since meeting and becoming close to Pitch. Even though he hadn’t totally been aware of it, he’d fought for the king, for his father. Fought to have loved ones after resigning himself to a solitary, lonely life. Pitch had earned his trust, but he didn’t know this stranger and had already allowed himself to care. It terrified him. 

Pitch’s head jerked up. He stared at Jack, golden eyes narrow and mouth thin. His nostrils flared as if he could scent Jack’s fear. “No, Jack, don’t do that. He isn’t like that and even if he were I’d never allow him to hurt you”. 

Jack shook his head, eyes closed and fists clenched. He didn’t hear Pitch move and twitched when a warm hand curled around his shoulder. “But…he’s the king. Don’t you have to do what he tells you to?” he whispered. 

“He may be the king, but you are a prince and I am a lord. Together we are no weaker than he. Even if he does disapprove, even if he does use cruel words against you, there is nothing to hold you here. You’re not a child. You don’t need his approval, nor do you need a father to be complete. I know you’re stubborn as all hell, so don’t rebuild that wall on groundless fears”. 

Letting out a shaky breath, Jack opened his eyes. “I know you’re right, but I can’t help it”. 

“Just give him the same chance you gave me…and Niall for that matter. Though I suspect Niall made it past your barriers before you realized. Cunning man. The king has experienced too many of his own tragedies not to treasure his only child. Besides, have any of the tales you’ve heard about him spoken of cruelty? He isn’t a cruel man. He was a good king, but everyone has limits and I believe he reached his and used indifference as a coping mechanism…Doesn’t sound so different from someone we know, hmm?” 

Jack pulled Pitch’s words tightly around himself and felt his fears subside. “You’re probably right”. He’d experienced enough loss not to give the king, no, his father, a chance. 

Pitch rolled his eyes. “Of course I am. Now, quite making assumptions. I don’t know how you manage to tie yourself up in such knots in the span of a few seconds, ridiculous boy”. 

Leaning back, Jack frowned at Pitch. “What’s that?!” 

“What?” Pitch said, eyes going a little wide. 

Jack reached up and tugged on a strand of Pitch’s hair. “I think…Oh my god…It’s a white hair”. He grinned. 

“Oh, haha, very funny”. 

“Hey, you had it coming”. 

“Not very clever, considering your natural hair color”. 

Jack smiled innocently. 

“That one is going to come back and bite you on the ass someday” Pitch said with sinister promise. 

They both quieted when the king’s breathing became audible. Jack’s fear turned to nervous anticipation and he watched the dusty coverlet rise and fall with bated breath. Several long minutes passed. The king moaned softly, brow scrunching and fingers spreading wider. Ash colored lashes fluttered for an instant before the king opened his eyes. He blinked, as if to bring the room into focus. Slowly, storm blue irises wandered from the star-strewn ceiling down to Jack and Pitch. 

The slanted gaze widened. “Kozmotis…?” His voice was barely a whisper. 

Jack glanced at Pitch and back at the king to find the blue irises gazing at him with a growing intensity. The stare was searching and the king’s expression slowly transformed into one of shock. 

“You can’t be…no…I thought…” 

Jack leaned forward, straining to hear the king’s words, unable to tear his own gaze away. 

“King Brion, this is Jack…he’s your son” Pitch said softly, hand still on Jack’s shoulder. 

Jack was grateful for the anchor. Without Pitch’s hand the uncertainty of the situation would have been too much. 

The king, who was still gazing unbelievingly at Jack, began to blink rapidly. Crystalline drops leaked from the corners of his stormy eyes. They froze on his cheeks and dropped to his hair, diamond on silver. “I have waited so long to look upon your face”. Slowly, he raised a shaking hand. 

Hesitantly, Jack reached out and took it. It was the same icy temperature as his own and only slightly larger. He didn’t have a clue what to say. The chaos of words in his head had finally quieted, no, deserted him entirely. 

“Truly it is you” the king said in less than a whisper, voice made hoarse by years of unuse. “You look just like her, just like your mother”. A grimace passed over his features. 

“What’s wrong?” Jack said, alarmed. 

“It’s simply the poison leaving my body…I’m healing” the king whispered, voice sounding a little stronger. “I know you are my son, yet you are not the child I searched for…how many years have passed? How have you come back to me?” Slowly, he pushed himself upright, regretfully releasing Jack’s hand. Shoving the coverlet back and sending up a faint stir of dust, the king turned toward them, crossing his legs. Steely hair pooled around him, overlong from years of neglect. Rotating his shoulders, he stretched painfully. 

“You’ve missed quite a party, your majesty” Pitch said tiredly. 

The king nodded slowly, taking in the battered state of both Jack and Pitch. “I can see that…I think…it’s all a little dim…Kane…He brought a bottle of wine and…I”. Horror dawned across his features. 

Jack experienced a moment of disorientation. This was the king and yet…he sounded so…normal and…hurt. “Kane is…gone” Jack said. He didn’t know how else to put. 

The king frowned, looking at Jack. The expression softened a few seconds later. “Perhaps you should start at the beginning, so that I might better understand your tale” 

“Go ahead, Jack. He deserves to hear it from you” Pitch said softly. 

Jack took a breath. “I’m much better at reading stories than telling them, but I’ll do my best”. After a pause, he began. He told of how he’d been raised by humans and left home because of their small mindedness. Pitch frowned at that, but Jack wasn’t in the mood to drag his entire sordid childhood into the light. Eyes growing distant, he recounted his first meeting with Pitch in the doorway of his book shop and their ensuing adventures…Leaving out the mad flirting. He explained Pitch’s reveal of the fey world and the destruction of his beloved books. Finally, he reached their entry into the winter court and their meeting with Mellan. Then came their discovery of Una and her explanation of Jack’s birth and subsequent exit from the court. Jack twisted his hands together, voice wavering, as he retold the account of his mother’s death and the revelation that the prince was the murderer of Pitch’s daughter as well

A terrible wave of shock passed over the king’s face. There was old pain in his eyes, a pain too deep for tears. Or perhaps he’d simply shed them all a long time ago. His head bowed, forced down by the weight of it.

Jack paused. “I’m sorry…Do you want me to stop?” He felt the loss of his mother as well, but it was the loss of knowing her, not the loss of a loved one

“No…Please finish your tale” the king said, eyes a little red. 

Jack began again, moving to Pitch’s capture and his flight to the Wild Wood. Of finding his grandfather and the two of them rallying the wild fey. He described the battle, his rescue of Pitch and the end of the prince. 

The king’s eyes closed when he heard of Kane’s marooning in the void, but Jack didn’t stop. “After we escaped the prison and spoke with Niall we came looking for you…Pitch read your dream and we found an antidote to the poison Kane slipped into your wine…You know the rest”. 

The king opened his eyes. His shoulders were still bowed, eyes old with sorrow. He didn’t look like a king, he looked broken. Destroyed by loss and betrayal. “My child…I can never atone for the wrongs done you, nor for the life stolen from you. You should have grown up here, surrounded by love…And Pitch…That your daughter’s life was taken…All of this is my fault. He was my son and his sins are my own. If only I’d noticed…but I didn’t want to see. The court is falling apart…I should have paid him more attention” What little color had been in the king’s face drained away, leaving him utterly pale, dark rings circling his eyes. He looked exhausted despite have slept years away. 

“No” Jack said, sitting on the edge of the bed. It creaked beneath his weight. “I’m not trying to complain…I’ve struggled through life, head barely above water, for a long time. I’ve had to deal with a lot of cruel, stupid people and I’ve come to a conclusion. Everyone is responsible for their own actions. Kane was a murderer. A crazy one. Occasional inadvertence due to the running of a kingdom didn’t make him a power hungry monster. He chose the wrong path all on his own. He attempted to murder the both of us and succeeded with Pitch’s daughter and my mother. This court is the way it is because of him, not you” Jack finished, glancing up from his lap. 

The king smiled sadly. “You are far too kind, but inaction is a choice as well. Perhaps the worst choice. I wasn’t completely unaware of his nature, I simply didn’t want to see him for what he was. Despite his wrongs, he was my son. He changed after the death of his mother…So did I, for that matter. I was king and everything of this court was my responsibility. It’s people and it’s welfare. I almost drove it to ruin”. 

Jack frowned. These things had happened, yes. But he couldn’t blame the king. Not after seeing him. He knew what it was to wrap apathy around one self like a cloak of protection. The king hadn’t murdered his mother or attempted to start another ice age. That had been Kane and he had already paid the ultimate price. Jack didn’t know how to convince the king of this, nor was he sure he could. 

“Your majesty, if I might” Pitch started. 

“Kozmotis, there is no need to be so formal. You and I are old friends and I’m a shadow of the king I once was”. 

“Brion” Pitch began again. “I lost my child…and my position. A situation not so different from the one you now occupy. I will always blame myself for not being there to save her. Always. I may not have held the knife, but I was her father, her protector…After her loss, I sought an end or some way to atone. I found a semblance of peace in helping others, restoring balance. You can to. This court still needs you. Jack still needs you. Once upon a time you were one of the greatest kings to rule this court, rivaling even Oberon. Put aside tragedy and start anew. The winter court is on the edge, pull it back again. Restore the balance”. 

“I have no right to this court…nor to you, Jack. Not after everything. How could the people stand for such a ruler? I am a ghost of the king I was in the days of old” Brion said slowly, passing a hand over his face, as if to wipe away years of adversity.   
Pitch sighed. “Alright then. I tried to do it gently, but it looks as if I’m going to have to lay it out”.

Jack looked at Pitch in mild alarm. “Pitch…” 

“No, Jack. He needs to hear this. I swear, the two of you are exactly alike. Utterly stubborn and unseeing until there’s a fire roaring beneath your person. King Brion, fore you are still king, the prince kept up the charade of your continued aliveness over the years and carried out his schemes in your name…Jack is your only living heir. If you do not resume the throne he will be forced to take your place. Though I know he would do it willingly, it isn’t yet in his heart to be king. He wasn’t raised here and he is just beginning to know the fey. By our standards he is still very young, even by human standards for that matter. In some form or other he’s been hunted and haunted his entire life. If you believe you’ve wronged Jack and this court, here’s a way to make up, in some small part, for your inaction. Take back the kingship and give Jack his freedom. He doesn’t deserve to be chained to this kingdom yet. There may come a time for him to wear the crown, but it shouldn’t be now and it shouldn’t be to fix your mistakes. Let him live, let him learn the ways of our people”. 

The king was staring at Pitch as if he’d grown a second head. Jack winced. He suspected that Pitch had inevitably changed since the last time he’d seen the king. Gone was the utterly loyal advisor with the attitude of a lord. In his place was the often ruthless detective with a predilection for brutal honesty and a hard heartedness, except when it came to Jack. 

“Pitch, you don’t need to-” Jack started. 

Pitch crossed his arms. “Oh yes. I did. Brion, I still care for you and think of you as a friend, but I’ve spent the last two days under rather unpleasant circumstances and the last of my patience ran out about five minutes ago. Now, what is it to be, your majesty? 

The king looked at Jack, face stricken. Slowly, he uncrossed his legs and swung them over the edge of the bed. “…Kozmotis, I have always valued your advice…and I now see that I’ve been extremely selfish”. He stood, surprisingly steady, for a man recovering from a coma and a bout of poisoning. “…I will take responsibility for the court…as is my duty. I owe it to the winter fey and…to you, Jack”. 

Pitch turned toward the king, placed a fist over his heart and bent in a neat bow. “I expected nothing less of you, my king…Now, you may wish to dress. An army awaits you”. 

Jack stood and took two steps, standing directly before his father. He was only a couple of inches shorter. The king’s eyes were full of shifting blue, storm cloud and permafrost. His bright steel hair fell in sheets. “I’m sorry…If I could set you free…” 

Brion frowned “No. The relief of my duties would be far from any kind of freedom. If I were to leave the court I’d only be haunted by the things I had left behind. As Kozmotis said, I may find peace in repairing the damage done the court…I simply did not believe my continued rule would be welcome…Nor did I believe myself to be deserving of the role after the magnitude of my failure”. 

Jack felt an odd pang in his chest. He didn’t know what to say to convince the king of his non-guilt. “You didn’t fail me”. 

The king regarded him disbelievingly. “…I was never there for you…and I wasn’t there for Kane. That is my greatest sin and the source of this situation”. 

“I may have blamed you once, but I’ve come to know the truth. Kane murdered my mother and forced me into hiding. I know that you looked for me. I know you didn’t stop looking. I can’t imagine how painful it was to lose another love. You are as much a victim of unfortunate circumstances as Pitch or I. He had everyone fooled, you, Pitch, the entire court. We can only pick up the pieces now. If we are truly immortal, then there’s no end to living with ourselves. Forgive yourself, I’ve already forgiven you. If your sorrow over this kingdom is any indication as to what kind of ruler you are, then I know the people will forgive you as well” Jack said, brow creased, hoping that some small portion of his words reached the king. 

“I am glad to see that at least one of my children has a good heart and a wise mind…Someday, when your time comes, you will make an exceptional ruler…I am listening, child, but I may need some time to reconcile with myself….At least I know where to start”. Brion leaned forward and pressed a snowflake light kiss to Jack’s forehead, pulling back with the slightest of smiles. 

Jack stood still, surprised. He glanced at Pitch, who proceeded to wink at him.

Walking to a full length mirror in the corner of the room, the king looked critically at his reflection. “This won’t do” he said, staring at his long, frayed robes. He disappeared through a side door into what could only be a closet. A few minutes later he reappeared wearing fresh robes in the deepest shade of midnight blue, the edges stitched with silvery patterns resembling the edges of a snowflake. The front was buttoned by a long line of loop closures and a short collar bordered the neck. Rather than fitting tight to his arms, the sleeves belled out at the elbows. The king straightened the circlet on his brow. He didn’t look a day over thirty. “Now that I am as I should be, let us begin setting this mess to rights”. Resting his hand against the wall for a second, he took a breath. 

Jack took step toward him, worried. The king put up a hand. “I’m fine, it’s just the last of the poison leaving my body”. 

There was an odd moment in which the three of them said nothing, all contemplating what was to come. Using his shoulder to shove off from the wall, Pitch strode forward. “I can transport the three of us outside, but I won’t be able to move through the void for a time after that…I’m afraid I haven’t the energy”. 

Jack looked at Pitch in surprise, he’d thought nothing of their walking to find the king, but he now realized that Pitch had been trying to preserve his strength. “Pitch, maybe we shouldn’t, it’s not that far”.   
“We’ve wasted enough time as it is, we shouldn’t make them wait. Let me contribute this at least, I missed out on the battle after all”. 

“I wouldn’t feel terribly sad about it. It was a blood bath” Jack said. 

“Yes, that is abundantly clear” Pitch said with a hint of sarcasm as he gestured to…all of Jack. 

“Let us be gone, we can trade witty repertoire later” King Brion interjected. 

Jack tossed Pitch an eye roll before they locked arms and turned into the shadows.


	17. The Final Curtain

Their feet splashed into a mixture of blood and dirt. The king gasped and Pitch let out a soft groan. Bodies lay bent and broken amongst the rubble. Some indistinguishable. Both the wild fey and the soldiers were collecting the fallen forms of their brothers and laying the dead out in lines. There weren’t any prisoners. It was a silent truce of loss, a loss of the compellation to fight and a loss of life. 

They went unnoticed for a moment and then across the carnage came a call of “It’s the king!” Mass murmuring broke out. The soldiers surged forward as the wild fey hung back. Brion wasn’t their king. They belonged to themselves. Jack watched as his father seemed to gather himself. He straightened, head held high and hands tucked in his sleeves. As if it were a red carpet, he walked forward across the ruined earth. 

“My people!” he called. “I have been absent for far too long…There was a force controlling this court, a force using the guise of my kingship to bring about their ideal of a kingdom”. Brion’s face had gone almost expressionless, but Jack could see a flicker of grief beneath the mask. “But no longer! This grim hour will draw to a close. Fore you have persevered and your loyalty is clear! The time has come to turn away from war and petty conflict. Do not again follow blindly that which seems unsound, look within yourselves instead. We are all brethren and must realign our moral convictions toward the restoration of balance between the courts. And though our swords may yet taste blood in order to realize this vision, let your hearts find repose in knowing that a new age, a golden age, is soon to dawn upon the winter court. You, my people, are more than an equal match for the struggles ahead…And to those who would oppose halcyon times in favor of chaos, beware”. On the last word, a threatening not entered his voice. 

A hoarse cheer went up from the soldiers, voices full of hope…and loss. 

King Brion held up a hand. “My wild kin, I must thank you for delivering my son unto me”. He put a hand on Jack’s back, propelling him forward. 

Jack blinked, acutely uncomfortable under the sudden onslaught of stares and whispers. He did an awkward little wave before quickly lowering his hand. It felt possible to die of acute embarrassment. At least he’d been prepared when addressing the wild fey. 

“Lord Pitchiner has returned to us as well, any offenses he may have been accused of are false and he is restored of all statuses. Anyone to treat him with disrespect will answer to me”   
Jack could hear Pitch take a slight breath of surprise behind him. 

The king continued; “Acquit one another of this day, fore both sides have lost much. And though tragedy it may be, this battle ended the beginning of a dark age. Let us treat the departed, both wild and court, with utmost respect. We are the people, the unchanging ones, but change we must if we desire to thrive. Tonight we will mourn, but tomorrow is a new beginning”. 

A collective sound ran through the crowd as the soldiers pressed fists to their hearts. The wild fey did the same, echoing the sign of respect. 

Quickly, the fey dispersed. Returning to the dead and the wounded. The occasional wail or shriek rising on the field. 

Brion turned to Jack. “We will talk at length, later. I must attend them, it’s the least I can do. Bless the dead in their eternal rest”.

Jack nodded. “I think we’ll have plenty of time. Now that…well. I’m going to look for my friends…and I need to speak with Pitch”. 

Brion smiled tiredly. “Indeed”. Silently he drifted across the field, pausing amongst the carnage to hold the hand of a dying soldier. 

A wave of dizziness washed over Jack and with it came a sense of relief strong enough to make his knees weak. 

“Whoa” Pitch said, grabbing his arm. “Maybe you should sit”. 

“No, I’ll be alright…I’m happy he’s alive, you know…But I’m also really relived not to be in charge of an entire kingdom…Which also make me feel kind of guilty because he kind of deserves a break…We just killed his son”. 

“Sometimes you can’t fix everything, Jack. He IS the king. His reign won’t last all of eternity and while he didn’t try to send the kingdom into this state, it was under his watch that things became this way. Wouldn’t you want a chance to set right your wrongs?” 

Jack sighed “…Yes”. 

“Then quite agonizing over it. It is what it is”. 

“You know, sometimes you can be really black and white. It kind of drives me crazy, but it’s something I admire about you, too”. 

“Why Jack, was that actually a compliment?” Pitch said, smirking slightly. 

Jack tried to frown at Pitch, but a cut over his eyebrow prevented more than a narrowing of his eyes. “Did you not hear the ‘drive me crazy’ part?” 

One corner of Pitch’s mouth curled up. “Aww, you drive me crazy too”. `

Jack shook his head, the ghost of a smile on his lips. Slowly, the smile faded. “…I know we did what we set out to do, but why does it feel as if we just started? This whole mess is so much bigger than I ever anticipated…It’s not just us defeating a villain…It’s the balance of nature itself and the welfare of a kingdom…I-I don’t know what to do now…my plans only came this far. I can’t just sit in a book shop anymore”. 

Pitch brushed a strand of hair from Jack’s forehead. “You forget. You’re not alone anymore. And we have eternity. A plan isn’t always necessary. We’ll figure things out as they come. Besides…Do think I’d really let you go back to hiding in your little paper prison? You’re mine now”. Pitch’s eyes burned on the last phrase and his fingers threaded into Jack’s hair. 

Jack tried not to shiver as five points of heat pressed into his scalp. He swallowed dryly. “…Is that a fact?” 

Pitch pressed down slightly, sending a shock through Jack’s nerve endings. “Unquestionably”. 

Jack’s reply cut off as Pitch’s hand slid to the back of his head, mussing his already ruined hair. Other hand taking Jack’s chin between two fingers, Pitch leaned down, eyes shifting, auric pools. 

Despite the fact that Pitch wasn’t using his gaze to illicit fear, Jack was frozen in place, insides fluttering. When Pitch looked at him like that, gazed into his soul, where every fear and fault hid, Jack couldn’t help but feel shaken to the core and it was all he could do to keep his knees from bending. His lips parted slightly in anticipation, everything around them fuzzy and inconsequential. And in the midst of the battlefield, Pitch kissed him, mouth hot and hungry. Jack could taste blood, feel it beneath his bare feet. The faint starlight and moonlight shone through his eyelids silvery white. For a single moment Jack forgot everything. It was just he and Pitch and the bright points of heat where Pitch’s skin touched his. 

A whoop rose from the field and Jack pulled back, surprised out of the contact. His face flushed from neck to scalp as the warriors cheered and whistled. He looked up at Pitch in mild horror. 

“What?” Pitch said with exaggerated nonchalance. 

“I hadn’t quite got around to telling my father, who I just met by the way” Jack hissed, still glowing. 

“You didn’t have to kiss me back” Pitch said, smiling slyly. 

“I can’t help it when you-you-” 

Pitch was beaming evilly now. “I what?” 

“Oh, go climb your ego and jump off” Jack retorted. 

Pitch laughed, the sound low and still a little raw. “Ouch. Come now, isn’t it easier not to have to tip toe around? They were bound to find out”. 

“And a public make out session was the best way to do that?” Jack would’ve crossed his arms if his injured shoulder hadn’t prevented the motion. 

Pitch’s eyes glinted and his expression lost its arrogant edge. “I actually wasn’t really thinking about it. I just wanted to kiss you”

Jack’s heart skipped an odd beat. He felt disarmed. Pitch had the oddest way of flipping a conversation on its head. “Hhmmf”. 

Pitch sighed, a smile dancing around his lips. “Come on, they’re going to start the pyres soon…And I think Linden would like our company”. 

Following Pitch’s line of sight, Jack spotted Linden waving at them from beside the ruined wall. Niall at his side. 

The evening and subtle night seemed to last an eternity. The ashes of the dead floated into the air, lit by flickering orange and yellow flames. Friends, family and brothers in arms stood vigil, bidding their last farewells. Silence pervaded the mass funeral, the fey solemn in their grief. Jack watched his father walk here and there, touching shoulders and offering whispered words. He and Pitch stood a distance from the line of burning forms. Niall’s face was far more solemn than usual, pale and pinched. Both he and Linden watched the blaze from beside the other wild fey. A strange sadness filled Jack. He hadn’t lost his family or friends, though few they were. Yet, these people had fought on his behalf, people whose lives should have gone on for hundreds if not thousands of years. And he could feel the grief of his grandfather, who watched over the wild fey as a wise man and protector. Everyone said it had been a necessary tragedy. That didn’t lessen the twinge in Jack’s chest. Still, he felt separate from it all. Not quite human and not quite fey. Glancing at Pitch, he wondered if his lover felt the same, though he’d chosen his exile from the fey world. Perhaps they were each other’s in-between. 

When the pale light of morning finally dawned, Jack was almost too exhausted to stand. The last of the embers were dying away, bodies ash and smoke, taken by the wind. In ones and twos the wild fey began to disappear. From the doors of the court crept the servants, finally emerging from their hiding places. They brought food and drink. On the undamaged portion of the lawn the fey sat and dined together. Soldiers, servants and king. Even a few of the wild fey had remained, perhaps to observe the out coming of the recent events. Linden and Elden had whispered their goodbyes just before dawn, but Jack knew he would see them again. Niall had decided to stay for the time being. 

Jack found himself seated on the slightly damp grass across from Pitch, his grandfather on one side and his father on the other. The air still smelled faintly of blood, but the clean scent of dew and freshly baked bread were prevalent and a balm to every bruised soul. He looked down at his hands to discover a warm piece of bread, he couldn’t remember accepting it. Or sitting, for that matter. His skin felt slightly clammy, as if the dew itself had settled into his flesh. Everything seemed to fade in and out, a noise or sight occasionally standing out with vivid clarity. Like his staff between his fingers or a snatch of singing. Everything felt like a giant bruise, overexposed and sore. 

Something pushed against his foot. Jack looked up, startled from his phase out. Pitch was staring at him, leg extended. His golden eyes seemed to be trying to communicate something, but Jack was too tired to try and figure out what it was. Brion cleared his throat, expression uncomfortable. Suddenly, Jack realized why Pitch had attempted to catch his attention. He hadn’t been paying heed to the conversation, but he had a good guess as to what direction it was headed in. A mortified sort of dread bloomed in his gut. 

“It is my understanding that the two of you have a certain sort of…relationship” Brion continued. 

Jack cursed internally and glanced at Niall, whose expression betrayed nothing. Pitch rolled his eyes at Jack when their gazes met, but didn’t say anything. He looked back at his father who was staring at his interlocked hands. 

“Some in this court will condemn the two of you for it. Not because you are both men, that is not so unusual among our kind, but because you, Jack, are a prince and Kozmotis is an advisor to the royal family, a Pitchiner. Our families have never been involved in such a way. It will be deemed improper by many. We are expected to produce heirs, to continue the royal line. I don’t want to disapprove…I care for the both of you…As a father I wish for your happiness, but as a king-”

“Wait” Jack said, wide awake. “I came here to find the person turning my life into a living hell and I hoped to discover my parents as a byproduct, but, really, I just wanted to put a stop to the unwanted chaos and fear in my life. When Pitch was taken I rallied an army to save him and to save this court. I was willing to become king, even though it wasn’t something I’d wish for. Now you’re telling me that we shouldn’t be together because of the discrimination of strangers and some age old expectation that I produce children? Pitch was the reason I broke through that wall, is the reason you’re awake and without him I wouldn’t even know what I am. He saved me. So if you’re trying to say that I can’t be a part of the royal family and be with Pitch then I’ll happily renounce any sort of claim I may have on the throne and you can pretend I was never born” 

Jack looked up from his balled fists, chancing a glance at the three men beside him. Niall had one eyebrow slightly raised and the hint of a smile on his thin lips. Pitch was grinning in a somewhat frightening manner, halfway between pleased and mutinous. Jack’s father, the king himself, looked horrified. 

“I did not realize that your affections ran quite so deeply…I do not wish you to renounce your title. I-…You’re the last of my family, Jack. Even if you decide not to take the throne someday, you’re still my son. If the two of you truly wish to be together, you have my blessing. It is not my right to impose my opinions on you now” Brion finished, brow furrowed. 

Jack let out a breath. “…I do care about your opinions, but this is something I’m not going to change my mind about...Last night you spoke of new times, maybe the changes needed around here are a little more drastic than you’re imaging. Have you ever considered starting a voting system and taking a little pressure off of yourself? Maybe it isn’t just as simple as a few peace treaties and your restoration to the throne. Maybe the way the court is run needs to change”. 

Brion stared at Jack as if he were a new and fascinating species. “I hadn’t thought…Perhaps a fresh outlook is exactly what this court need. If you would be willing to work with me in implementing some of these ideas?” 

“I would like that, but…” Jack glanced at Pitch. 

“I have a proposition” Pitch began. “If the conflict has truly extended to the human world, you’ll need someone there to monitor fey activity. There will be those who run when they hear of the prince’s demise. Those who won’t agree with your new ideals and those who’ve gotten away with far too many sordid acts during your absence and now have someone to answer to. I’ve been interceding in cases involving the fey for a long time and it’s a necessary job. Jack, of course, would join me. Such a job needs two, after all. In between cases we’ll return here to both report and assist. You’ll get to see Jack and he can learn about the fey and the running of the court. It will give him a chance to visit Niall as well. An equal division between worlds”. 

Jack held his breath. It was everything he wanted. A place between the worlds. A place between freedom and responsibility. A place at Pitch’s side. 

Brion smiled, one of the first true smiled Jack had seen him wear. “I would take half of your time over all of anyone else’s”. 

Niall nodded in agreement. “I would be pleased to have the pleasure of your company, as well as yours, Kozmotis, at any time. My offer still stands, if the two of you would ever like a place to stay”. 

Jack breathed out. “Thank you. Thank you all so much. I accept, all of it”. 

Niall did his simile of a smile. “My child, we are the ones who should be thanking you. We dropped the moon onto your shoulders and you didn’t bow under the weight. I am proud”. 

Brion inclined his head. “I and this court are in your dept. Both of you. I look forward to knowing you, Jack. We have a lot of years to make up for”. 

“I’ll toast to that” Jack said, raising a cup of tea he’d received earlier. 

The four of them clinked their mugs together and took silent drafts of the fortifying liquid.

Jack yawned massively, despite the slight caffeine buzz. Pitch gave him a knowing look. 

“I think the two of us are going back to my home topside for a day or two…Jack needs to recover and we both need to cleanup. Besides, I think everyone else has the same idea. I don’t think we need to worry about any major changes taking place in the court until word of recent events has spread” Pitch said decisively. 

“You’re leaving the realm? The two of you are welcome to stay within court” Brion offered.

“I want to check on my book store…I sort of left it in shambles” Jack added, which was true, but he really just wanted a bit of uninterrupted time with Pitch. 

Brion stood, face all too knowing. “Well then, I will see the both of you soon. Heal and rest. There’s much ahead of us”.

Niall rose. “I must return to my people. This has been a sore time for them as well…And may the luck of all peoples be with you, your majesty”. 

The king inclined his head. “Thank you…Perhaps we might speak at a later date, when things have settled”.

“I would enjoy that” Niall replied

Jack already missed Niall a little. “Thank Linden and the rest of the wild fey for me, I don’t know when I’ll see them again”. 

“Soon” Niall said as if he knew the exact moment of Jack’s return. He turned to Pitch “Watch each other’s backs”. Rising on a gust, he took to the half-lit sky, framed by the clouds and stars. 

Waving, Jack watched Niall disappear. The king held out his hand, and after a second’s hesitation, Jack grasped it. Frost patterns curled between their hands and up their sleeves. 

Brion smiled. “I have so many, many things to teach you”. 

Jack stepped to Pitch’s side. For the first time in his entire life, he could see a future worth living and fighting for. “I look forward to it” Jack said with a tired answering smile.

His last sight of the winter court was a fey with flaxen hair and sapphire eyes coaxing tiny frost colored flowers from the blood soaked earth. 

They slammed into the ground a few inches from the door into Pitch’s apartment. Jack staggered and caught himself against the brick wall. It was almost dark. Time between the realms had jumped.

“Sorry about that…I’m a little low on juice right now” Pitch bit out, bending for a moment to catch his breath. 

“That’s right, why did we teleport if you weren’t up for it? What if we’d gotten trapped in…you know” Jack said as Pitch removed a brick from the wall. 

“I’d have to be on the cusp of death to become trapped in the void. That was just some minor turbulence”. 

“Minor turbulence my ass” Jack muttered. 

Pitch raised a brow at him. “Did you say something?” 

“Nope”. 

“I didn’t think so”. 

Pushing himself from the wall, Jack peered through the window of his shop. The front looked undisturbed, the sign they’d left still on the door. He put a hand on the door knob and turned it out of instinct, he remembered locking it. The door swung open. For a long moment, Jack stood in the doorway in utter shock. All of his books were exactly as they had been. Every one whole and in bright, disorderly lines across the many shelves. Not a trace of a burn or a shred of ruined paper. It smelled like ink and paper and the closest thing Jack had ever had to a home. “Wha…How?” he whispered. 

“Being the son of the winter king has its advantages” Pitch said from just behind him. 

Jack startled. “Don’t do that. Do you want me to blast you?” He waved his staff menacingly. 

Pitch laughed. “You’re about a hundred years too slow…And don’t you dare turn that into a joke about how old I am”. 

“Old man…My father did this?” Jack refocused on the restored Frostbook. 

Pitch rolled his eyes. “More like he sent someone, but yes”. 

“I never expected…I didn’t think I’d ever get them back”. 

“Yes, yes. You’ve now been reunited with your beloveds, you hopeless bibliophile. Now, I think it’s time we do some reuniting up in my apartment, you, I and the shower”. Pitch wrapped his fingers around Jack’s wrist and began to pull. 

Jack managed to slam the door of the book shop closed. Pitch unlocked the door his office using the key he’d hidden behind a brick in the wall. 

“Why did I just now realize that you seem to take particular pleasure in sneaking up on me?” he said, remembering their first meeting in Pitch’s office.

“I’m attracted to fear, it’s in my nature to want to startle a reaction and you’re far too delightful with yours” Pitch replied casually. 

“Oh, I so owe you one for saying that”. The words had barely left Jack’s mouth before Pitch had turned, Jack’s wrist still in his hand. 

They were halfway up the stairs. Pitch stared down at Jack, eyes golden and alight. In a single fluid movement, he pushed Jack up against the wall, pinning his wrist above his head. 

Jack blinked up at him, frowning slightly. “Hey-” 

“Do you know how terrified I was when you disappeared through that window? I couldn’t see you and that damned mirror put a damper on my abilities. I didn’t know if you’d gotten away or if they’d shot you out of the sky” Pitch said, mouth thin and eyes narrow. 

Jack took a shaky breath. His shoulder hurt, but he didn’t care. “You didn’t know that I made it out alive?” 

“No” Pitch whispered. 

Jack could hear the pain in Pitch’s voice, the pain of spending two tortured days in the winter prison with the possibility that he’d lost Jack and any chance of escape. Held by the man who’d killed both his daughter and lover. “If I could have come any sooner…it almost drove me insane…I didn’t know either. He could have killed you before I made it…” He let out another unsteady breath. The memory of almost loosing Pitch caused a hot fear to grip his insides. 

Pitch’s eyes went wide, pupils blown. Slowly, he released Jack’s wrist. 

“Pitch?” Jack said quietly. One of Pitch’s hand slid up into his hair, the other around his back, pulling him close. He froze for a second, surprised. Pitch didn’t say anything, but squeezed a little tighter. Slowly, he wound his good arm around Pitch’s back, hand fisting into the material. 

The slightest of tremors ran up Pitch’s frame. “Don’t you ever scare me like that again” he breathed. 

Jack nodded against Pitch’s chest, inhaling the night scent of Pitch himself, mingled only slightly with the dank of the winter prison. “Same to you”.

They didn’t move for a long moment. Jack could hear Pitch’s heart beat. He closed his eyes, a shutter passing through his body. Unbidden tears welled. He’d been too afraid to cry and too needing of strength to break down. Now it was all over and he had Pitch back, but the tension of suppressing it all had finally broken. Another shiver racked his frame as he gulped his tears convulsively. For a second he flashed back to a hotel bathroom. He hated to cry, yet here he was, doing it again. “S-sorry…You were the one who was imprisoned…I don’t know why I’m c-crying” he said on a shaky breath. 

“Don’t be sorry” Pitch whispered. “I cried myself out a long time ago and I’m far more used to dealing with high stress situations…You’ve had a hell of a time…and I can’t help but feel at fault for quite a bit of it. I dragged you into this world”. 

Jack took a stabilizing breath, pressing his forehead against Pitch’s shoulder. “…I was always a part of the fey world, whether I knew it or not. You simply pulled back the curtain…If you feel at fault…take responsibility”. 

Pitch’s breathing stopped for a second and then he let out a breathy chuckle, ruffling Jack’s hair.   
“Alright then, you asked for it”. He bent, hooking an arm behind Jack’s knees. 

Jack exhaled a hiccup of surprise, finding himself suddenly horizontal. “Pitch, you shouldn’t-”

“Oh, lay off. I’m not some delicate flower” Pitch retorted, hugging Jack to his chest. 

“And I’m not a princess”. 

“Shut up”. 

With a sigh, Jack wound his arm around Pitch’s neck. He was too tired. 

Pitch climbed the stairs steadily, holding Jack as if he weighed next to nothing. The Upstairs hall was paneled in ash colored wood. Jack looked about curiously. The layout seemed to be a mirror of his own apartment. Flicking the hall switch on with his elbow, Pitch continued to the bathroom at the opposite end, the living room a dark doorway. The walls were deepest chocolate, the shower a huge glassed in square. Carefully, Pitch stood Jack on the dark slate floor and turned the knob on in the shower. The water hissed out and vapor began to rise, fogging the carved, black mirror. Turning, Pitch’s eyes traveled up and down Jack’s form. 

“Time to get rid of those”. He snapped his fingers and the shadow clothes clinging to Jack dissipated. 

“I’m glad you can’t do that to all of my clothes” Jack said, looking down at the bandages wrapping his chest.

Pitch grinned. “Would be handy, wouldn’t it?” 

“For you, maybe”. 

Pitch let the shadows fall from his body and stripped away the last of his original robe. His chest was incredibly bruised, splotched in an array of purples and blues. The skin broken here and there by odd burn-like spots. 

Jack stepped toward him, mouth twisted unhappily. Lightly, he ran a finger over one of the burn-like circles. 

“Frostbite…He was rather fond of using his pointer finger like the lit end of a cigarette” Pitch said with a twisted smile. 

“Lord...Pitch” Jack ran a hand ever so lightly over the marks, as if he could wipe them away. 

“Don’t think about that now” Pitch grasped both of Jack’s wrists and stepped backward, golden eyes hypnotic. He slid the shower door shut behind them. 

Jack hissed as the warm water hit his chest. It stung and quickly soaked through the blood stained bandages. He blinked up at Pitch as water droplets clung to his eyelashes. “I’m still wearing pants, you know”. 

“My mistake”. Pitch reached down and ripped the clinging seams of Jacks leggings open. They fell to the dark tile in a wet heap. 

Jack’s breathe came a little faster. “Impatient?” 

Rust colored water swirled down the drain. For a moment Pitch rested his hands on Jack’s hips, warm breath causing the muscles of his stomach to contract. Slowly, he slid his hands up, peeling the bandages away. Cupping Jack’s face between his hands, Pitch paused, lips curving slightly and breath mingling with Jack’s. The warm and cold creating tiny clouds of moisture. 

Jack closed his eyes, letting the water slide down his face like tears. 

The kiss never came, Pitch tilted his head and bit the curve of Jack’s neck before running his tongue over the indentation. It sent a shivery cold-hot sensation up Jack’s spine and his head thunked against the glass of the shower. 

Jack’s eyes flew open when Pitch’s touch disappeared. 

Pitch was drizzling soap onto a wet cloth. Gently he began to wipe the dried blood from Jack’s skin in slow strokes. 

It stung, but feeling the layer of grime come away was like stripping off the last remnants of the battle. Jack sighed as Pitch worked soap into his hair, separating the caked together strands. Steering them directly under the spray, Pitch stroked Jack’s silvery hair back. 

“I can’t even describe how good that feels” Jack muttered under Pitch’s ministrations. 

“Hmmmm” Pitch hummed. The cloth dropped to the shower floor. Pitch’s hands traveled over Jack’s ribs slowly, seeming to count each one. 

Jack’s inhaled as deft fingers slid over his navel and came to rest on his hips. Hesitantly, he snaked an arm around Pitch’s waist, mindful of the marks and bruises there. “I missed you”. 

Pitch’s brow drew together for a second, eyes tracing Jack’s upturned face. “And I you”. 

A sudden reckless longing filled Jack, a longing to feel the contact he’d feared for so long, then come to love and then almost lost. He reached up and wrapped an arm around Pitch’s neck, mindless of his injuries. Standing on tiptoes, he pulled Pitch down and kissed him with careless urgency. Pitch’s fingers twitched against Jack’s hips in surprise before his lips parted, mouth warm. 

Pitch took a step closer, until they were flush against one another. His fingers pressed into Jack’s hips, their wet flesh sliding together. 

Jack groaned against Pitch’s mouth as the heat and friction sent a thrill through his nerves. Wet tendrils of Pitch’s hair tickled his face. His knees already felt weak. Pitch’s mouth felt almost too warm as his tongue traced over slightly pointed teeth. His mind swam with the sensations, hot, cold, tongue, teeth and the bittersweet sting of still-healing wounds. Fingers digging into Pitch’s shoulder blades, he sought purchase in the chaos of it all. Pulling away, Pitch ran his mouth down the length of Jack’s Jaw, sucking at the sensitive skin just below his ear. 

Pausing for a second Pitch asked; “Here or the bed?” 

“…Bed…I don’t think I can stand for much longer” Jack whispered. 

Pitch’s breath gusted against his neck in a small chuckle. “You certainly won’t be standing when I’m through with you”. 

Jack groaned. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten your I’m-going-to-fuck-Jack-into-the-ground-so-he can’t-move vendetta from last time”. 

“You didn’t seem to have much of a problem with it while I was fucking you” Pitch said, voice low. 

Jack opened his mouth to say something when Pitch bit his neck and ground their hips together at the same time. He cried out, the noise strangely loud in the echoing bathroom. Clapping a hand over his mouth, he glared at Pitch who was watching him with amused, golden eyes. 

Releasing Jack, Pitch retrieved the shampoo bottle and squirted a healthy dose into his hands before working it into his hair. 

“Tease”. Jack ducked out from beneath the spray. “I’m getting out”. 

Pitch had his eyes closed, head beneath the cascade of water. “Towels are under the sink. I’ll be out in a second…Lover”. He began to hum a slow melody, one that sounded faintly familiar to Jack. 

Jack’s heart did a funny little twist. The towel felt abrasive, his skin like a live wire. 

Looking in the mirror, he pondered his reflection. His wounds stood out against the paleness of his skin. He could feel them healing. It was already easier to put weight on his leg and move his arm. Like fresh snow, his hair shown silvery white and the blue of his eyes seemed almost too bright, sky and ice. There was a wildness about his mirror double that hadn’t been there before. A fey quality. Jack laughed in spite of himself. 

Pitch turned the shower knob and stepped out onto the tile. “What?”   
“…Just that I felt out of place in the fey world and now we’re back here and I can’t help but think how fey I look”. 

Pitch rested his chin on top of Jack’s head, looking at their reflections. “You look as you should, like Jack”. 

Jack snorted. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Pitch tossed his towel over a rack. “That you are as you should be and what you look like doesn’t have to dictate what world you live in”. 

“Hhmm”. Jack touched a finger to the mirror, sending ice crystals scrawling across his reflection. 

“You’re doing that overthinking thing again, perhaps we should do some forgetting now.” Pitch grinned and tugged Jack’s towel away, tossing it beside his own. Grabbing Jack’s hand, he pulled it over his shoulder, turned, and proceeded through the bathroom door. Almost silently, they padded down the hall. Pitch didn’t turn the living room light on and Jack could only make out the darkened shapes of furniture. 

Jack could hear the soft sound of rain just beginning to patter down on the roof. Pitch’s warm hand wrapped around his and the gentle dripping was a balm to his soul. He sighed into the silence, some of the tension leaving his body. Pitch squeezed his hand correspondingly. 

They crossed a threshold in the dark. With a click, light suddenly bloomed in the form of a number of rounded, antique bulbs hanging from the ceiling. Black cords looped from their bases, connecting them to a center plate. Jack’s eyes traveled from the industrial chandelier to a wall of white washed bricks, the other three walls a soft shade of charcoal. The bed itself was simple yet elegant, black frame flat on the floor, covered in silvery sheets and mounded with several dark blankets. It was unmade, as if Pitch had slept there the day before. On one wall hung several ethereal watercolors of forests, the trees depicted in cool colors. They reminded Jack of the wild wood. Steel floor to ceiling book shelves lines another wall, stacked neatly with novels. His fingers itched to explore the titles. Pitch released his hand and dimmed the lights until the shadows stretched and the spaces in-between things became dark inlets. The soft glow cast Pitch’s features in sharp relief as he paused by the switch, unfathomable golden eyes raking over Jack’s bare form. He looked fey then, Jack thought, a shudder worked its way up his spine and his fingers curled at his sides. The distance wasn’t enough and it was too much. 

Crossing the space in several languid strides, Pitch passed Jack, gaze lingering, before bringing the iPod dock on his nightstand to life. He scrolled for a few seconds before stopping on a song. The melancholy notes of Adam Hurst’s ‘Face in the Rain’ issued forth. “Come here” Pitch said, beckoning with a finger. 

Jack blinked and released a held breath. His feet seemed to move of their own violation and in several unsteady steps he was in Pitch’s arms. Fingers moved down his back, finding the small knife scar. A hand gripped just above his elbow, anchoring him in place. The scar was healed now. The events surrounding it far away. Still, the flesh felt sensitive, as if the nerve endings were closer to the surface. Pitch’s breath tickled his ear as it whispered out on a sigh. 

“You smell so good” Pitch breathed against Jack’s hair. “Like winter and freshly fallen snow”. 

Jack made a noise in the back of his throat. In some small part of his brain he wondered if their core energies were more a part of them than they could know, the cold and dark. Then there were fingers under his chin, tilting his head back and Pitch’s mouth was on his. It was a possessive kiss, lips moving roughly and blood rising. His heart picked up tempo. Pitch always made his heart beat faster. Lips parting on a gasp, Jack’s fingers dug into silvery flesh as Pitch’s tongue caressed the inside of his mouth. He clung as teeth scraped over the pale skin of his neck, making his legs weak. They turned and Pitch was lowering him onto the sheets without breaking their connection. Lips and teeth painted a too-warm trail down his collar, the sensations sinking through his skin and into his bones. It was cold fire, conflagrating through his insides. 

The sound of rain on the roof sang along with the cello and the slide of their skin. Jack wanted to become utterly lost in the rhythm. Teeth grazed over one of his nipples and long fingers pinched the other. Jack’s hands went into his hair as a jolt stole through his limbs. His breath came faster and he could feel his skin warm slightly in the places he and Pitch’s aligned bodies touched. He jerked when a hand wrapped around his length. “Errg!” 

Pitch bit the curve of Jack’s ear, his other hand squeezing lightly. “Now that I finally have you, I’m taking my time” he whispered, voice a dark, velvety caress on Jack’s skin. 

Jack gripped the pillow beneath his head. He was already half-hard and Pitch’s touch was maddening. “I don’t…” Jack fished for words and couldn’t find any. Pitch laughed softly against his neck. 

“You’re mine tonight. All night. And I’ll have you until you’re left with nothing but my name”. 

Another shiver worked its way through his body as one of Pitch’s finger trailed up his chest to dip into the divot at the base of his neck. His wounds throbbed in time with his heart beat. Drifting, Pitch’s hand curved up his neck and a warm finger pushed against his tongue. 

“Suck” Pitch said, voicing holding a dark edge of command. His grip on Jack’s length tightened. 

The breath hitched in the back of Jack’s throat and his hips jerked. Some small part of him wanted to fight anything resembling an outright order, but he also wanted to succumb and that surprised him. 

Pitch bit Jack’s earlobe. “Do it” he whispered, voice daring this time. 

Jack’s eyes squeezed shut as he sucked, hesitantly at first and then hard. His tongue curled around Pitch’s finger, the bitter-sweet flavor of Pitch himself heavy in his mouth. 

“Just like that” Pitch breathed as his hand ran one hard stroke along Jack’s length before releasing it. 

Jack whimpered softly at the loss of contact, muscles contracting as Pitch’s hand trailed up the line of his waist, making his insides feel liquid. 

Pulling his digit from Jack’s mouth, Pitch recaptured the younger’s lips, the tip of his tongue tracing the shape of them. 

Jack made a cut off sound against Pitch’s mouth when the wet finger trailed down the inside of his thigh and over the seam of his leg to brush across his entrance. His fingernails scraped down Pitch’s chest, he tried to be mindful of the injuries there, but coherent though was quickly becoming an impossibility. He was trembling already. His pulse thrummed in his ears and a desperate, hot ache spread from his core, making his limbs heavy. It hurt, how much he wanted to burn himself into Pitch’s body, forget worlds and voids and everything beside the press of skin and the sound of their matched breathing. “Promise me” he whispered, voice hoarse. 

Pitch pulled back just enough to look down into Jack’s eyes. The gold of his seemed to glow in the semi-light. “Promise what?” he asked, stroking Jack’s hair back. 

Eyes closing, Jack leaned into the touch. “That you’ll never disappear” he whispered, voice wavering slightly. 

Leaning down, Pitch brushed his lips across Jack’s before pressing their foreheads together. Like an oath he whispered; “Never”. 

Letting out a shaky sigh, Jack pressed a hand over the place Pitch’s heart rested. 

Pressing a last kiss to Jack’s jaw, Pitch rose onto his knees and leaned across to pull open the drawer of his nightstand. The objects inside rattled faintly. After a second, Pitch shoved it closed, a clear tube in his hand. Eyes never leaving Jack’s, he squeezed the lubricant into a cupped hand before flipping the cap shut and tossing the bottle on the bed beside them. Slowly, he rubbed his palms together. 

Jack swallowed and watched as Pitch spread the lube down the length of himself in one long, deft motion. He felt blood rush to his groin and to his face. His fingers dug into the mess of sheets and blankets. Tilting forward, Pitch slid an arm beneath Jack’s upper back, pulling him upright and onto his knees. Understanding, Jack slid his arms over Pitch’s shoulders before Pitch’s mouth slanted over his. 

Other arm wrapping around Jack’s waist, Pitch pulled them flush together, lips staying on Jack’s. Slowly, he ground his hips. 

Fingers digging into Pitch’s shoulder blades, Jack moaned, the sound swallowed by Pitch’s mouth. “Fuck!” he managed on a gasp when Pitch repeated the motion. 

Pitch laughed softly. “You have quite the charming tendency to swear during times like this”. 

“Shut up” Jack managed on a breath. “I can’t help it when you’re…doing that”. He shuddered. 

“You mean…this?” Pitch said as he gyrated against Jack, tone slightly evil. 

“You-” Jack bit his lip hard enough to draw forth a bead of blood. 

Turning his head, Pitch licked the blood away in a single swipe. His fingers pressed into Jack’s spine, tracing each vertebrae. 

The sensations consumed all of Jack’s words. His chest rose and fell against Pitch’s, their skin sticking together. He was already exhausted. Clinging tighter, he pressed his face into the curve of Pitch’s neck, breathing in the scent of nighttime and spices. Pitch’s hair dripped gently onto his shoulder, still wet from their shower. Strong, lean arms held him close for a moment before turning him gently, but inexorably. On his knees, back to Pitch, Jack felt raw and exposed, minute tremors coursing through his frame and breath coming out unevenly. 

The snap of the cap on the lube bottle seemed strangely loud to Jack and he twitched before realizing what it was. A hand stroked over the curve of his shoulder and he closed his eyes. 

“Spread your knees a little” Pitch whispered against the back of Jack’s neck. 

Hands clenched into fists, nails digging into his palms, Jack widened the space between his shins. Pitch’s knees pressed against the inside of his calves, the touch sending tiny shocks through Jack’s overly sensitive skin. One of Pitch’s arms snaked around the front of his stomach, slender fingers curling around his length. Jack let out a stuttering breath. In an agonizing, rhythmic motion, Pitch’s slick hand slid up and down. It was a sweet sort of torture. Teeth grazed the top of his shoulder as another slick hand trailed up the back of his thigh before pressing against his entrance. Jack tensed without meaning to. 

‘Relax into me” Pitch said softly, trailing kisses down the curve of Jack’s neck, warm breath raising the tiny hairs there. 

Jack let out another shaky breath. He needed something to hold onto. Raising his arms, he grasped the low head board, gripping the velvety, black fabric between trembling fingers. Pitch’s finger circled the tight ring of muscle at his entrance. Jack’s head tipped back and his spine curved, caught between sensations. A choked noise rose from his throat when Pitch pushed a finger inside. It was hot and curled against the delicate membrane, caressing. He was being carried away, caught in the rip tide that was Pitch. He didn’t care, he wanted to drown. His limbs felt boneless and he leaned back, resting his shoulder blades against Pitch’s chest. 

Another finger joined the first, slowly fucking in and out with the rhythm of Pitch’s other hand. Jack trembled, fingers digging hard into the headboard. “Nnng…Of all things holy”. 

“Tell me more” Pitch breathed, a dark delight in his tone. 

Jack was close, but he wanted more. Wanted all of Pitch. Had to feel the lines between them blur. His chest ached with it. With difficulty, he released the headboard with one hand and gripped the arm Pitch had curved around his waist. His nails digging in. Hard. “Now…I need you…only you”. An almost-sob escaped his throat. 

Pitch stopped moving, a tiny, audible hitch catching in his breath. “My Jack, you already have it all. I’m yours heart, body and soul”. 

Closing his eyes, Jack sunk into the words, surrendered to them. 

Turning his arm, Pitch twined his fingers with Jack’s and pressed their forearms to the front of Jack’s shoulder. Carefully, he slipped his fingers out. 

Jack bit his bottom lip, head falling back against Pitch’s shoulder. Warm lips sealed over his as Pitch nudged against him and pressed inside. Slowly, so slowly, Pitch filled him, swallowing every needy gasp and riding out the tremors wracking Jack’s body. Jack’s free hand reached back to grip Pitch’s thigh, lean muscle flexing beneath his fingers. 

Finally, Pitch was flush against him. Breaking their kiss, Pitch licked a hot line down Jack’s neck. Pitch’s other hand slid around to trail up Jack’s sternum, the touch sent sparks skittering across Jack’s skin. His chest rose and fell with uneven breaths and he could feel Pitch’s heart beat against his back. At a maddening pace, inch by inch, Pitch pulled out halfway and pushed back in, his breath gusting against Jack’s neck. 

A groan escaped Jack’s throat and his finger’s tightened around Pitch’s. Again, Pitch pulled out and pressed in. The cello sang on, matching the tempo of their bodies. He felt as if he might shudder apart and fall to little pieces. His heart was tight with it. Jack pushed back against Pitch’s thrusts, synchronizing the undulations of their bodies. 

“I don’t think I can hold back…right now” Pitch ground out, fingers clenching against Jack’s stomach. 

After a moments surprise, Jack realized that Pitch had been carefully measuring his movements. Was being incredibly gentle so as not to hurt Jack when he was already injured. “Then don’t”. 

With a growl, Pitch bit the back of Jack’s neck, teeth almost puncturing the skin. Nearly pulling all the way out, he sheathed himself to the hilt in one quick motion. 

Jack cried out as Pitch thrust forward over and over. He could feel himself shaking apart. A hand curled around his erection, stroking the length of it with hot pressure. It was impossible to stop the sounds pouring from his throat. The sensations built, curling up Jack’s spine. The phantom heat climbed higher. 

Slowing, Pitch pressed his cheek against Jack’s, rocking their bodies together. Tears pricked at the corners of Jack’s eyes. It was almost unbearably sweet. “Pitch!” He shattered apart, coming into Pitch’s hand and riding out a full body shutter. His lips parted silently, eyes squeezed shut and hand gripping Pitch’s hard, hard enough to bruise. 

“My Jack, give it all to me” Pitch breathed. Anchoring a hand on the younger’s hip, he began a series of short, hard thrusts that left Jack breathless. 

Jack clung to Pitch as if he were the last life boat during the great flood. It was delectation.

Pressing forward a last time, chest flush against Jack’s back, Pitch climaxed with a hoarse cry, the heat of it searing up Jack’s passage. 

When the last of their shudders died away, Jack leaned back against Pitch, heart still racing. 

“What a magnificent fall” Pitch whispered in his ear, breathing a little uneven. 

“If that was a fall, you can clip my wings and shove me from the heavens” Jack murmured. 

When Pitch laughed breathlessly it sent a jolt through their connection. “But isn’t that the beauty of it? You’ve never needed wings to fly” he replied softly. Carefully, he slid out, hands rubbing small, comforting caresses. 

Jack made a quiet, pained noise in the back of his throat. Caused as much by the loss of connection as the physical sting. 

“I know, I’m sorry” Pitch soothed. 

Jack shook his head. “Don’t be…What life were love, if love were free from pain?” 

Pitch pressed a kiss to the side of Jack’s brow. “Mmmm, I like that one, who’s the author?” 

Jack smiled faintly “Sir Walter Raleigh”. 

“You should bring one of his collections…by” Pitch said, voice low. He slid a hand up Jack’s waist and pulled them both back onto the blankets. 

“No, you come and get it” Jack said, chin on his hands on Pitch’s chest. He tried not to smile. Sometimes he enjoyed provoking Pitch. 

Pitch ruffled Jack’s already ruined hair. “Brat, if I go over to that accursed paper factory it will be to lock the door and have you on one of the book shelves”. 

Jack snorted. “If you could catch me”. 

Pitch raised a brow. “I chase people for a living”. 

Jack yawned…he was so tired. His mind swam. All of his extremities felt strangely warm and boneless. “I’m not unaware, but I am after all, younger and spritelier than-” 

There was a sudden movement and Jack found himself pinned to the bed, Pitch above him. He blinked up into smug, golden eyes. 

“You were saying?” 

“You caught me on a bad day”. 

“Just keep telling yourself that”. Pitch grinned and leaned down, his mouth hovering. Ever so slowly, he brushed his lips across Jack’s, the touch feather light. 

Jack shivered. “I can’t come up with a witty comeback when you do that” he whispered. 

“That’s the point”. Pitch licked his lips slowly, a smile lingering on his mouth. 

“You’re terrible”. 

“I prefer the terms devilish and clever”. 

Shaking his head against the pillow Jack said; “Watch out, I’ll turn it around on you one of these days”. 

Pitch reached down to run his nails across the dip between Jack’s hips, causing the younger to jerk in surprise. “Not anytime soon, lover”. 

The rain suddenly grew louder, and the curtained window shook, rattled by a gust. A flash lit the outline of the window. Jack stilled, waiting. Pitch’s breathing slowed, as if he were listening too. 

The boom echoed faintly, drowning out the soft music. 

Pitch looked back down at Jack. “Want to watch the storm?” 

Strangely, Jack felt more awake. As if the wildness of the gale were calling. “Yeah”.

Scooping the younger up, Pitch was across the room in several strides. There was a wide window seat onto which he deposited Jack before slinging the curtains open to reveal rain-stained glass. The faint lights of the city cast a pale glow on the belly of the sky. 

Jack rose to his knees, pressing his fingers to the glass, cool on cool. Another flash flared in the distance, its jagged lines bright against the starless sky. He had always loved storms. The chaos of the elements sang to the well of ice next to his heart. Once he’d flown into a squall. It had tossed him this way and that until he’d broken through the clouds to discover the calm above. It reminded him of the disarray just below his own fragile surface. 

Kneeling on the window seat, Pitch reached up and undid the latch. He looked sideways at Jack, hand on the frame and a wild light in his eyes. 

Jack grinned and gripped the opposite side. Together, they swung the window open. 

Precipitation poured through the opening. Thunder sounded again. Jack laughed. There was a strange sort of delight in feeling the rain slide down his bare skin, to do something no one ever did. A warm arm wrapped around his waist and pulled him around. 

They kneeled, chest to chest, framed by the storm. 

Jack’s breath caught in his throat as he looked up into Pitch’s face, into depthless golden eyes. 

Pitch’s mouth formed words as another boom sounded, rattling the frame of the building. 

“What?” Jack mouthed. 

Pitch smiled, water beading on his skin, hair soaked and eyes burning fiercely. He leaned forward to whisper in Jack’s ear, lips moving softly and low voice full of emotion. 

“I love you”. 

A shiver ran up Jack’s spine and his heart skipped a beat. He trembled and fell apart all over again, his arms wrapping around Pitch, removing all of the little spaces between them. 

On trembling lips he whispered; “I love you too”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep. Just did that. 
> 
> Thank you all so much for going on Pitch and Jack's journey with me. This story is close to my heart and I've treasured each comment and watched the view count slowly grow with some astonishment. I will continue to keep an eye on this fic and will reply to anyone who leaves me a comment. I know I have a bit of catching up to do in that area, but I will send you a reply even if it takes me a bit. If anyone has a question about the plot feel free to ask, half of their world is still in my head. I intend to work on both my original story 'Otherwhere' and my other blackice fic 'Rise of the Guardians: a Romantic Sequel' next, both can be found on my page...I'm not saying for sure, but there may be a sequel to this one sometime or other. I'm also considering making a few one shots of their individual adventures. We'll see after Romantic Sequel is finished. For anyone who's interested, I post all of my chapters on deviantart as well, along with my Jack cosplay and my blackice fanart. (http://wintryberry.deviantart.com/) As of yesterday I started a twitter account to keep readers apprised of chapter release dates (like when I'm gonna be late), share art, cosplays, quotes and other fun stuff. (https://twitter.com/winterberryfics) As this was based one one of my original stories, I'm thinking of converting it back and turning it into a real book someday. We shall see. Kudos to William Joyce for writing up the original Jack and Pitch on which mine are based. I'm currently having a hard time not shipping the other characters I threw into this tale. Damn my inner romantic...Again, thank you guys for bringing this one to life. 
> 
> ~Winterberry


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